


What I Failed to Realize

by angelmira



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Kiss, First Time, Love, M/M, Post-Episode: s03e23 Deus Ex Machina, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-30
Updated: 2016-04-28
Packaged: 2018-05-30 02:38:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 37
Words: 56,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6405391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelmira/pseuds/angelmira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My take on season 3 finale... Team Machine is no longer together. Harold is slowly falling apart each day without John Reese.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1 - John's POV

**Author's Note:**

> At this moment the story has 28 chapter and is not finished yet.

**Chapter 1** **\- John's POV**

                John Reese was sitting at the table, glaring at everyone. He checked his watch almost constantly. Suddenly the tension in his shoulders disappeared. Woman with long, dark hair took a seat in front of him.

                "Hello..."

                "Jack," he reminded her.  Root was the first one to know his new identity. Right now he didn't understand what game she was playing. "Why now?" That was the only interesting thing. The big reason. When he met her one month after "team Machine" separated, she was strict with him. They couldn't contact each other. It would mean the end of their lives. "Why are you talking to me now?"

                "He makes HER nervous."

                Harold. Root wasn't talking about anyone else. "Is he alright?" For a moment his CIA training kicked in. He was prepared to kill every single soul who would harm his friend.

                "Yes. He's safe. Our other mutual friend is also fine. I don't understand HER sudden interest in him. SHE wants you two together for some reason."

                "Ok," John nodded. He can do this. He searched for a plausible explanation. So far he could play the three of them. "Give me an address of the nearest bar to his work or apartment. Tell him to be there at seven. I will take care of everything else."

                "Interesting," Root mumbled. "You want to be sucked back into all that clusterfuck?"

                "I just want to see him. I don't care about anything else. If he agrees, text me the address." Root was sufficient. He didn't doubt her ability to create new identities for them. But she hasn't known Harold as long as John has. He had to see him for himself to know what's happening.

                John got up and walked away. His heart beating too fast. Like a hummingbird. Just with the thought he would see Harold again. Suddenly all the questions were tumbling in his head. Did his shoulder heal ok? Is he lonely just like the first time they met? Did he think every day about all the Numbers they can't save now? Were the three years of their collaboration even worth it? What about Bear? Was he alright? He missed their dog. He didn't have any doubts about the canine's health. He trusted Harold with his life. But he still wanted his friends back.

                Harold wasn't a free man now. He was stuck in his new identity too. He has to pretend to be another person again. Like he didn't do it enough times - Mr. Partridge, Harold Wren, Harold Crane, Harold Crow, Harold Swift, Harold Gull, Harold Quail, Harold Starling, Harold Martin... John was sure he forgot others not so important ones. These were used the most.

                Two hours after he arrived to his apartment, an unidentified number sent him a text message with location. John could finally breathe easily. He wasn't smiling. No one could accuse him of smiling. He was John Reese, smiling wasn't in his nature. But with the light feeling came nervousness as well. Ridiculous. Why would he be nervous? He saw Harold like hundred times. Nothing changed. Nothing changed at all... Well, maybe the little detail where they were not suppose to see each other.

                Oh. Caution. It was now easily explained. One slight mistake and they could both end up dead. Just like Harold said after their first Number all these years before. _Sooner or later both of us will probably end up dead. Actually dead this time._

***

                John was sitting in the corner, watching the door open and close like a million times through the night. Funny how the anticipation could spike his heartbeat. It was almost eight. He didn't make mistakes. He was very strict with orders to Root. Harold was supposed to be there at seven. And now he was almost 47 minutes late. 46 minutes and 32 seconds precisely. John's breath stopped. He swore his heart must have stopped too. Finally.

                Complications. John's plan needed a little bit of tempering. Harold wasn't alone. With him were two other men. Co-workers. They were telling him some story or joked or something and he smiled at both of them. One of the smiles to reassure people. This image was breaking John's heart. He wouldn't admit it of course. Normal people could say Harold was a simple person, quick with smiles and jokes. Not many of them would see his body language. His subtle way of eyes shifting to the sides. Or the way he tried to scan the room.

                It was best to put him out of misery. Maybe Harold thought John didn't wait for him. John swiftly left his seat and was slowly approaching from behind. Glass of water prepared in his hand. He was waiting for the right moment to be in the spot when Harold gestured with his hand and met John's glass. His jacket's sleeve damp.

                "Oh god, I'm..." Harold turned around, his speech forgotten.

                One of them should say something. John was absolutely sure of that. But his brain refused to cooperate. Harold looked exactly in the same position. He was standing with his mouth open but no words came out.

                "H?"

                John's attention was immediately on the other man. He was putting his palm on Harold's shoulder. Reese arranged his face in a blank mask. He couldn't break someone's hand without a reason. Even if Harold was startled and took an instinctive step towards John. "I'm sorry for the accident," John put a smirk on his face. "Can I help you?"

                Just like that. Harold Finch/Wren/Crow/Gull/Swift was immediately in his role. "My favorite jacket. Do you have any idea how much it cost? I need to go to the bathroom," he didn't spare John one second of his attention.

                "Bad move, pal. He's completely anal about that jacket."

                "Yes," the other one agreed. "You should apologize. Maybe he won't kill you."

                "Better do that," John walked to the bathroom. Harold was waiting for him with hands crossed over his chest.

                "Mr. Reese,"  breath escaped from his lungs.

                "How is it going, Harold?" Now was the time he smiled. A big, warm, content grin on his face. He was sure Finch would call him crazy. "It's just water," he nodded to his arm. "It won't leave any stains."

                "Thank you. It was very considerate of you. What are we going to do now?" he asked eagerly.

                "Well, Harold, I hope you will buy me a drink. You spilled mine to the floor." It was the first thing he could think of.

                "And then?"

                "Then you will give me your number, I will smile very nicely, call you in two days. We will go for drinks. You will tell your friends and co-workers about me. How good of a person I am. And lastly, we will decide to go for a vacation somewhere out of the range of cameras, phones and other people. Very, very secret date weekend."

                "Alright, Mr. Reese. Let's do it."

                "Impatient, Harold?" God, he missed their banter.

                "Henry," he corrected him.

                "Oh... Jack." John didn't understand the sad smile he saw on Harold's face. "Everything all right, Harold?"

                "Always, Mr. Reese."

                His words were like a punch in the stomach. How many times has he heard Harold say the exact words to him? Always as an answer to his: _Are you there, Finch?_ "Harold..."

                "Time to pretend some more, Mr. Reese."

                Finch's limp was worse than before. John desperately wanted to talk to him. A few more sentences. Nothing difficult. A minute longer. But the only thing he could give Harold right now was his support. "You can do it, Harold."

                "Don't worry about me, Mr. Reese. I was pretending my whole life. I am very good at it... It was good seeing you again."

                With one significant look, Harold was out of the door. John didn't have any other option than to follow him. They were now in the most important roles in their lives. They couldn't afford any mistakes.

                "We almost went after you, H. Everything ok?"

                One of Harold's co-workers almost immediately stepped to his side in a protective manner. It would be funny, if John didn't know Harold better than them. They didn't see him in his element. He almost blinded them with smile. His relaxed face turned to John. It was so out of character for Harold he knew.

                "I have to buy Jack a new drink. Come on. Name your poison," he teased.

                "Bottled water," John asked the bartender. He grabbed it from the counter and faced Harold. "And your number, Henry." Almost instantly, he snapped a card from Harold's hand when it appeared. "Henry Dellany. I will remember that."

                "I certainly hope so, Jack..."

                "Frost."  John offered his sure name with a hand, winked in Harold's direction and held it just a bit longer than necessary. All for the good show. People have to believe they hit it off. Samaritan have to believe they are irrelevant. They couldn't afford to raise any suspicion.

                With that John was on his way out. His heart beating two hundred per second again. Unbelievable. How the hell could Harold do this to him? He could stay calm as a meditating monk with a barrel of a gun at his temple. It didn't faze him. He could face a full room of armed crooks without any sweat. His CIA training was ingrained in his core and DNA. But the idea of seeing his former employer unnerved him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2 - Harold's POV**

                Harold Finch sat himself gingerly on bed and tried to put down his shoes. Constant neck and back pains were steadily getting worse thanks to his longer hours in the office. Twelve per day. Without a chance to stand for something other than bathroom breaks or lunch. He hated every single second of it. He met John yesterday.

                He was sure John will call tonight and checked his phone almost every hour. Carried it all day with himself, which was unusual. His co-workers spotted it and teased him mercilessly. Now all he felt was disappointment. Of course John will wait for tomorrow. They agreed on tomorrow. Why the hell he has had his hopes up? It didn't make sense.

                Harold's eyes opened when canine's head was poking to his side. Bear sadly whined. "I know, boy, I know." Dogs have better nose than humans. Of course he smelled John on him yesterday. He was pining for his master ever since they separated. Now it seemed cruel. Harold had his chance to see John, but Bear didn't.

                "It will be alright." His shoes abandoned, Harold carefully laid on his back and close his eyes again. His spine felt like it was rearranging itself. For a moment he wanted to feel something familiar. It wasn't fair. Seeing John for a few minutes and then have it all out of his reach again. One conversation and a handshake. It was all he got from their encounter. He needed more.

                For one whole minute, Harold permitted himself to remember the old times. Library. Sun streaming through the windows. John cleaning his guns. Bear sleeping on the floor on his bed, toys scattered around him. Ms. Shaw's unexpected visit. Ms. Groves sitting in a corner, having silent communication with the Machine.

                All was lost. Harold could live without his Machine. He understood they couldn't save anyone now. It pained him, but the alternative was death. They did great things as a team. He could sleep with the knowledge they can't help anyone now. They needed some time. And maybe they will regroup again, if the Machine calculated their risks lower.

                Harold was certain this wasn't the end. But in six months, he has had some revelations. He could easily live without Ms. Groves and Machine's missions. He could live without Ms. Shaw's sarcasm. He like them both. He cared about them. He wanted to make sure they were safe, but John meant something different.

                They were through too much together. In his lonely life without Grace and Nathan, Harold didn't want to find another friend. Especially not the asset who would be helping him. There was the big chance the agent would end up dead. His skills would decide if that time would come sooner or later. John Reese crawled under his barriers. Harold started to like him, care for him. Started to seeing him as a friend. Not just an employee.

                He could count on John if the situation was escalating from possibly dangerous to life threatening. They made some mistakes with their Numbers, but never with each other. And suddenly John Reese was the only person in a world Harold couldn't imagine his life without. Being alone again - being without John - it felt like a slow and painful death.

                Harold opened his eyes when he felt the shift on the bed. Bear was laying down beside him, head on his paws and sad face. Obviously Harold wasn't the only one who missed John. He survived without John alright before he found him.

                Just one day. He could wait one day and talk to John again. With difficulties he got up. There were things to do. Like take down his shoes. Prepare for bed. Read a little. And if he would have a good night, he could sleep maybe two hours without nightmares.

***

                Obviously three hours of sleep were enough. Harold went to bed around midnight. At three a.m., with franticly beating heart and John's name on his lips, he was awake and tried to convince himself John Reese was unharmed somewhere in the same city. Greer didn't shot him. Greer didn't kill him. Harold didn't have to hold him in his arms as he was dying. He didn't have any desire to try sleeping again.

                Now, at work, he had permanent smile plastered on his face and acted. His life depended on it. If by chance someone asked if Henry was ok, there still was simple answer: "He didn't call yet." After lunch, people stopped asking about mystery man he met at the bar, and started another topic.

                At three o'clock Harold was just going back from his break when his phone started to ring. Pressure around his chest loosened. "Hello?"

                "Hello Henry."

                Harold could almost picture John's smile. John's familiar tone of voice. This was good. But he has to play his role properly. "Jack, is it?"

                "I see you didn't forget me."

                "It's not every day occurrence for me to spill someone's drink, Mr. Frost," he forgot himself for a moment. This was not something Henry Dellany would say, but it made John chuckle. Harold couldn't be sorry. His chest was starting to feel a little warmer. 

                "Well, Henry, I certainly hope not. Is there a chance we could meet again for a drink? Without your friends?"

                "Are you asking me on a date, Mr. Frost?" Finch couldn't contain his smile any longer.

                "Apparently yes."

                "Then the answer is no," Harold could almost Picture Reese frowning in confusion.  "I would like to meet you. But not  for a drink."

                "Aren't we a bit impatient, Mr. Dellany? I didn't even buy you dinner."

                "Oh."  The warm feeling was suddenly gone. Red heat claimed Harold' s cheeks. "I didn't mean... Oh god." He closed his eyes. Why the hell earth couldn't swallow him? Flustered and embarrassed , that was his default status around John from the beginning of their collaboration. He almost forgot it.

                "It's alright, Henry."

                Just like every other time, John Reese came to his rescue and took control of the situation sensing Harold's  discomfort immediately. "Where do you want to meet?"

                "At the dog park? I would like to introduce you to someone." Harold was absolutely sure John understood his meaning. He almost anticipated eager response, but there was only silence on the other side. "Jack?"

                "Yes?"

                That quiet answer broke Harold's heart. He knew the tone of John's voice. John was being emotional. John Reese was hurting, but Harold couldn't comfort him. Samaritan was listening. He has a role  to play. Greer's machine heard everything. "Is it alright, Jack? Or are you allergic to dogs?"

                "No, I'm not. I had a dog. Long time ago. Tell me when? I will be there," he assured him.

                "Around seven? If it's convenient?"

                "Alright. And what day?"

                "Your choice," Harold wanted to meet right this minute. John would probably agree, but they had to play it safe. Slow and steady like a normal people.

                "What about tomorrow? I have to work today. Tomorrow is relatively ok day for me."

                "Good then. I will see you tomorrow," Harold smiled again. "I have to go. I'm at work."

                "Ok. Bye, Henry."

                "Bye, Jack." Harold turned and four heads of his co-workers were poking from their cubicles. Every single one of them had a grin spread across their faces. Harold quickly sit at his desk and started to work. His thoughts stayed with John. He wanted so much to be there with him. Those seconds of silence between them showed him the truth. Neither John was taking their separation very well.

                Two days ago they met each other "first time" again and they didn't have a chance to talk. But he could see John Reese didn't eat properly. John certainly lost some weight. He had dark circles under his eyes, which meant John didn't sleep well. It was like an infinite loop.

                John lost Jessica and hit rock bottom of his life. Harold lost Nathan, Grace and all in his life. He found John, gave him purpose and they worked on Numbers. Life was relatively bearable. They were teaching each other to trust again. Live again. Then Simmons killed detective Carter and their lives were never the same.

                Rock bottom again. The Machine persuaded John to help. But their lives changed. Then Ms. Groves and Ms. Shaw arrived. More people meant more help for Numbers. Greer and Vigilance appeared. His kidnapping six months ago. Harold still felt scared to be somewhere on his own. Through the Vigilance's trial, Harold's only hope was John finding him, which happened, but they didn't have any time together. They have to separate. The government gave green light to Samaritan.

                Harold just wanted to be in familiar place with familiar people. Person. With John. And Bear. Preferably very soon, but he didn't hold his breath for the alternative. It won't happened. Not in near future. They have to sold their relationship first.

                "H?"

                Harold turned his upper body sideways to listen to his co-worker. Back and neck couldn't tolerate too much motion. Confusion marked his face when Harold saw the bucket of mauve geraniums and red aster flowers. "Yes?"

                "These are for you." He put the vase on his desk.

                 Few strokes on keyboard and he knew the meaning. Asters = contentment. Geraniums = comfort. His eyes fell on white card. There was only one word.

_SOON._

                He smiled. John Reese. He could always count on John to ease every situation. He sent a text message to John's number.

                _Thank you for the flowers._

The answer was immediate. _My pleasure._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3 - John's POV**

                John waited on a bench in a park one whole hour before he spotted familiar shape of a man with a limp and his companion. This time Harold was on time. Bear must have smelled him. The dog leaped forward barking happily. Harold barely had enough time to drop Bear's leash. But he didn't mask his wince of pain quickly enough. John knew his friend too well.

                He let Bear sloppily kissed his face and laugh with dog's enthusiastic response. "Hello, boy."

                "He likes you."

                John stood up still smiling and petting Bear's side. "He's a good dog."

                "His name is Bear."

                Always playing their role. "Bear? It's fitting."

                "He probably smelled me on you." They needed to be conscious of the reason why would Bear leap on a complete stranger. "And from the flowers. They were beautiful."

                John only smiled sweetly in response. He hated every second of this pretending. CIA taught him to be charming, witty and flirty. He could turn it on and off depending on situation. But this was all wrong. It was rubbing him the wrong way. "Are you alright?"

                "Hm?" Confusion marked Harold's face.

                "You were in pain. When Bear ran away from you. Everything ok?"

                "Oh."

                Reassuring smile. Finch was really good at pretending too.

                "Of course. I was in a car accident a long time ago. My back and neck hurts a lot. It's nothing," he shrugged his shoulders carelessly. "I'm used to it."

                "Do you want to sit down?" John suggested.

                "Yes. If it's not too much trouble for you, could you throw him a ball?" Harold took old tennis ball out of his pocket and gave it to John. "He will be your friend for the rest of your life. Trust me."

                "Oh, I have no doubt." They spent few minutes in complete silence, sitting on a bench,  watching Bear chasing after ball and then coming back and dropping it into John's palm. He almost forgot how it felt comfortable to sit in silence with Finch.

                When they started to work together, Harold kept everything from him. And John did exactly everything to figured out Finch. Conversations. Stalking the millionaire with no results. He learned to be content with silence. Now it felt almost like coming home. Harold's presence and his silence. But they weren't Harold and John. They were Henry Dellany and Jack Frost. They were  on the brink of a new relationship. They have to talk.

                "I had a dog. I lost him." He needed to stick with most of the true facts.

                "He died?"

                God. Did he really have to spell it out? He looked to Harold's face. No, he didn't have to. Harold knew everything about him. But Henry Dellany didn't. "No. He... stayed behind. With my..." He couldn't say employer.

                "Friend?" Harold suggested.

                "Yes. Male friend." His head was hurting with tension. He wanted to skip all this dating, damn it. He wanted to go home with Harold. Or on a secret vacation. This conversation was like pulling out his wisdom tooth.

                "You can borrow mine, if you miss him that much. Bear is an excellent judge of character. He likes you. It's good enough for me. He usually guards my body like a fortress. Started after the accident." 

                "I'm glad you are alright," John smiled sadly. This was his smile for Harold. "The other day... I saw you flinch when your friend touched your shoulder. Pain is that bad?" 

                "No. It's just instinct," he shrugged. "When you have your back and neck almost broken, you don't want people to put their hands near you. Trust me. My shoulders are perfectly alright."

                Another part of John's worries eased. Harold was shot in the shoulder, when Greer almost executed him. Two second later and Root wouldn't have to create Henry Dellany.

                "Would you like to have dinner with me sometime?"

                Harold's words were so abrupt, John hesitated for a second. "Do you want to? I ruined our perfect afternoon by asking about your injuries. That is not a first date conversation."

                "Well, could be worse. You could say you want to see the scars. To tell the truth, flowers were a nice touch. I have to give you a chance."

                "You have a dog," John teased. "How could I say no?"

                "Very easily. I'm an old, crippled man."

                Doubts. Finch was right. Every relationship starts with them. They have to clarified along the way. John didn't take his eyes off of Finch. This was really a curved ball to his stomach. They usually didn't talk about personal things. He felt like a fish out of water and he hated it. But he had to act like Jack Frost. "And surprisingly you're not a bitter recluse beating around himself how unfair life is. I want to know you better."

                "You have a talent with words." 

                And they reach the end of their game. John could feel it in the air. This wasn't Henry answering him. The flush in Harold's face said enough. "I have a lot of talents." He couldn't keep his face calm. He had to smirk, when he heard Harold's laugh.

                "I'm sure you do."

                He didn't even registered his hand on Harold's elbow, when the older man started to get up on his feet. It was instinct. Helping Harold was like breathing.

                "Thank you."

                John silently nodded. They were in this situation hundred times before. Him helping Harold on his feet. Him supporting Harold's weight. Him tugging Harold out of difficult situation. And somehow today, it felt different. Maybe it was familiarity. Six months without these small reassuring touches.  That traitorous heart really started to piss him off.

                "I will cook for you."

                "What?" John felt like he missed half of a conversation.

                "I will cook. I'm very good around a stove. But I have two conditions."

                "Of course you do." He released theatrical sigh. "Go on. Hit me with them."

                "One - you have to bring wine."

                "Easy enough. Second?" Sometimes it was so good to participate in their banter. It was like the old days. He would be one hundred percent sure with Harold's answer and his behavior. Then the recluse would do something absolutely out of character, and John could start with figuring out Finch from the scratch again.

                "Second -  no phone. I want to have time for you. I will even turn off mine. I'm old fashioned. I hate interruptions. Well... I don't know if you can do that. I don't know what you do for a living." 

                "I can manage without phone one evening. Definitely," he assured him quickly. "And I will tell you about my work on our second date." Finch looked like he swallowed very bitter lemon.

                "Second date?"

                "This is our first," John couldn't help it. Sometimes it was so easy to tease him. "Be aware of the third, Mr. Dellany." 

                "Why?"

                On the other hand some bits of their conversation were even more fun than before. He would definitely never flirt with Harold this openly.  "You know the drill, Henry. Third date equals first kiss."

                "Oh, I don't know. I think you deserve one today. Can you sit down again and close your eyes?"

                Talk about freaking confused. John sat. Per instructions kept his eyes closed. Waited. Harold couldn't bend down. Not for this angle. How the hell could he kiss...?

                "Bear, say goodbye."

                John started to laugh when he felt canine's long wet tongue on his face. He couldn't care less. Raising his head up, he have to give it to Harold. It was fun being together again. They will be gone in a few minutes. Now their conversation wasn't like pulling teeth. It was the easiest thing.

                "Tomorrow is Thursday. I have to go out of town, Henry. What about Monday? Are you free?"            

                "Yes. Hope you enjoyed your kiss, but we have to go now."

                "I will see you Monday. Bye, Henry."

                "Jack." Harold nodded goodbye and was limping with Bear away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4 - Harold's POV**

                Pink peonies arrived on Monday morning after Harold's lunch break. Pink = gratitude. Peonies = healing. John was back in town or ordered them from somewhere by phone. Which meant he was alright. Which meant Harold's nightmares were absolutely pointless. And yet he was wide awake previous night with knowledge of John's absence. 

                "H?"

                Hand on Harold's shoulder made him flinch. Again. He couldn't master it. Every time someone touched him, it was an invasion of personal space. Every single time. He couldn't harness his body's reactions. There was only one person who could touch him without it. John Reese. His mind was absolutely content in his presence. They always have this special balance between them. Each aware of the other's space and the importance of it. Harold repeatedly treated John's minor injuries and John unobtrusively helped Harold getting up from low chairs or walk. It became a habit.

                "Are you ok, H?" 

                "Fine. Just fine. Jack... will be coming for dinner tonight."

                "You dog! Awesome!" But he saw Harold's reaction. "Or not awesome?"

                "No... It is alright. I... I like him," he gave him a small smile. "I just... It doesn't feel real. Look at me. I'm crippled, old, no one important. What could be so interesting about me? I don't have any money. I have a dog, small apartment and boring job."

                "Do you think he's not serious? Is he playing with you?"

                Harold was shaking head vehemently. "No. He's not like that. I believe him. He just seems... too good to be true."

                "Nerves." Andrew winked. "You need to talk to him. It will be alright."

                Harold nodded. "Yes. Perhaps." Finding his phone, he texted John his address and repeated thank you for the flowers.

***

                Harold opened door to his apartment little later than he would liked. Bear was so enthusiastic he nearly tripped him. "I'm sorry for..." _...delay._ That should be his words. But the moment he saw John, he wasn't sorry at all. John with his patent grin was kneeling for Bear's benefit.

                "It's ok. He's perfect."

                _Phones._ Remembering the important part. "I already turn off my cell, Jack."

                "I left it at home. And brought wine. As I was instructed."

                "Excellent. Whenever you ready, you can come in." Harold left him with Bear. Went to the kitchen. John deserves to have his time with a dog. Setting the table, he tried to keep his breathing steady. No matter what he wanted to think, there was still very small part full of doubts. Did he cover every potential threat? What if Samaritan could see into his apartment with traffic cameras?

                He quickly closed the drapes on both windows. What now? Phones? Out of picture.  Windows? Out of picture. Audio feed? Nothing with microphones in his apartment. He leaned on a window frame for support. Deep breath. Audio. Video. Did he forget anything? This was the most important part. John depended on his opinion and experience with the Machine. If he slipped, they will be dead within a few hours.

                "Setting the mood, Harold?" John whispered in his ear.

                Harold surprisingly flinched. His heart was beating panicky. What in God's name was wrong with him? "Mr. Reese," reproach in his voice was tangible. And suddenly the discomfort and doubts were gone. He scolded John so many times in this tone. It was like coming home.

                "Sorry. Couldn't resist. You look worried. Everything alright?"

                "Should be." Another deep breath. And he was aware John didn't take a step back. John never tried to bully answers from him. Harold shot eyebrows up pointedly. That was all it took for John to take a hint.

                "Sorry... We don't have much time, Harold. Either we can talk or we can play our old games withholding important information."

                "That's not it, Mr. Reese. I just don't know if my security measures are good enough. I did built the Machine. I know what I have to protect us from. But the theory is different. What if someone will hear anything through the door. What if that someone has a phone in his hand. What if..."

                "Harold," John put both hands on Harold's shoulders and squeezed. "Calm down. You're going to be fine. We both will. Now tell me what's wrong. I'm sure it has nothing to do with your self-consciousness."

                "I hate this!" The confession burst from him unexpectedly. He was restlessly walking from one side of his apartment to the other. "I hate everything! The job. People. I can't talk with normal people. They don't know me! I can't be out of here without Bear. I'm terrified Greer's men are waiting for me behind every corner. I have nightmares every night. I'm the one dying. Or you. I saw your death like million times." He spread his arms with defeat. "I just can't go on like this much longer." Now he exhausted himself. And for what? Nothing. John couldn't help him with neither of it.

                Harold couldn't believed, what he just did. He showed his emotions too easily. This was not like him at all. He was the reserved one, always keeping his feelings at bay. He should...

                "Not a problem, Harold. I will spent the night. Tell your friends we will be living together. You are old enough. You don't want to waste time, if you find someone important."

                Familiarity of John's calming voice and his soft drawl almost killed him. It would be so easy to agree. "No. No." Harold sat carefully on his old couch. "Be serious, Mr. Reese. You know we can't do that. It would look suspicious. They would start talking." Relaxing the tension in his shoulder, he closed his eyes for a moment. They can't afford to raise any questions. "It was... just a moment of weakness," Harold hesitated.

                When he finally look up, John was staring at him. He looked tired, dejected. Not much better than him. "How are you, Mr. Reese?"    

                "I'm fine, Harold."

                "I'm not at my best now, but I can still spot your lies. Not sleeping, not eating as far as I can see. Something else?" He was scared to ask, but it needed to be addressed. "Have you been drinking?"

                "Water." Despite his words John pulled out a bottle of red wine from coat's pocket and put it on a conference table.

                "That's good." Harold's relief was palpable. Finally some good news.

                "I'm sloppy when drunk, Finch. I can't afford to be sloppy. Root could be calling anytime." 

                "For what?"

                "To save you," John explained patiently, he sit on the other side of a couch. "I could not live with myself if I didn't do my job, because my abilities were compromised. They already grabbed you three times now. I won't give them another chance."

                "It wasn't your fault. Miss Groves. Greer. Collier. None of my kidnappings."

                "Keep telling yourself that, Harold. Tell me how much better you will feel when you wake up terrified at night."

                "John..." He didn't know how to tell him something so significant. "...I am very certain I can live with nightmares. Twelve years back, when I started building a Machine, I was scared it will do too much damage. It kept me awake at night. When we sold it to the government, I was completely horrified to my core by the betrayal of my best friend. The Machine was sealed against people, but he was still able to built a back door to Irrelevant list. He endangered our lives. They killed him and the same explosion crippled me. Months later I still had nightmares about it. Through the years I dreamt about your death so many times I can't even try to count the occasions. I'm not a stranger to horrible night terrors, Mr. Reese. My... agitation... It has nothing to do with me being scared for my life. I lived in fear and hiding for years, but every morning I had a chance to go to the library and saw you. Calm. Collected. Amused. Giving me Sencha Green tea or doughnuts. Keeping me safe. Keeping yourself out of trouble. I'm not scared of nightmares. I'm scared of being human and depending on people. You specifically." Harold has to keep his eyes averted. It was not usual for him to feel that level of embarrassment.

                "You can text me, Harold. Every nightmare. I'm... not sleeping much these days. Will it help?"

                John Reese always found a way to make things better. Bearable. He could only nod.

                "And I will spent the night today."

                "What?" Harold's terror must be comical. "No. You can't."

                "Sure can. You will tell your friends I fell asleep on your couch after dinner. We were watching movie..."

                "I don't have a television, Mr. Reese," Harold had to hide a smile.

                "What? What kind of person Henry Dellany is? No sport channel? How can you live like this?" 

                "That kind of person, who watched too much TV, while he spent months in hospital after the car accident."

                "No stereo?"

                "Only CD player, I disabled the radio." John's annoyance was amusing to him.

                "Ok. We listened to some of your songs and I fell asleep."

                Harold silently watched John stand up and trying to figure out the CD player. When finally whole apartment was filled with opera, Reese quickly turned the machine off.

                "Really, Finch? Screeching cat again? I would not fall asleep to this piece of..."

                "...beautiful performance?"

                "Yes, my words exactly," rolling his eyes, John flopped back to the couch. "Anything else you have?"

                "Beethoven?" he deadpanned.

                "Alright. I could fall asleep to that. Some pillow and blanket would be nice. And I'm hungry. You promised me dinner."

                Harold smiled. Maybe the night wouldn't be such a disaster after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading. :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5 - John's POV**

                Root was right. Well, not Root. The Machine. She knew Harold better than anyone else. Right now, Harold wasn't enigmatic recluse and secretive millionaire. He was struggling with side effects of another of his kidnappings. He was too good of an actor to raise any suspicious of his colleagues, but Reese knew him better. Harold was on edge. That was the reason Machine wanted them together. She saw Harold's nervousness.

                John was sure Harold had some fancy schmancy name for their dinner. For him it was just a fish. He didn't even knew it's name. He didn't care. He liked it. End of story. Harold proved himself surprisingly skilled in a kitchen. Too bad John didn't knew it before. Problem was he couldn't ask Finch how he learned to cook. It was a personal information. If he could do it as Jack Frost, he was sure Harold would told him the truth in a different environment. But now it was pointless. Personal information were taboo.

                As John tried to make himself comfortable on the couch, he couldn't stop thinking about Harold leaving his bedroom door wide open. In the darkness, John didn't hear him. Only Bear's loud snoring. "Completely understandable if you want to smother him with a pillow, Harold."

                Light chuckling from Harold was his only answer.

                 "I mean it. I will probably do it myself. Don't mind me if it wakes you up in the middle of the night."

                "It's just for a few hours, Mr. Reese. He will turn on his side around one."

                "And you will sleep through that concert till then?"

                "Certainly better than screeching cat, don't you think?"

                John smiled. He wasn't so sure. The otherwise quiet and calming effect of the apartment were a good.  He gave Harold a few moments of peace before he said: "You know you will have to talk to me, Harold. Therapy isn't an option for you now. You have to stop keeping it inside."

                "Don't worry, Mr. Reese. Repression worked wonders for you. It will certainly help me too."

                The conversation was over. John wanted to smacked himself, maybe hitting a wall or two would give him some satisfaction.  Or maybe putting his head through the wall would be more effective, also with a side benefit of leaving him unconscious.

                This was Harold's cold tone. Only for special occasions. Like shutting him up and pushing him away. Reminding him John did mistakes in his life as well. Harold has the same right without his input and he was waiting for John to admit his mistake out loud. That was something he didn't do. "You are not a trained CIA agent. It will eat you alive, Harold."

                John could almost sense the chill emanating from the other room.  Shutting up his mouth was a perfect option. Why the hell he has to tell him something like this? He practically told him Harold isn't good enough. He didn't mean it like that. Just bad use of words.

                "Trust me, Mr. Reese. I am very aware of the fact that I'm useless in dangerous situations." 

                It was almost like a punch in the stomach again. Harold Finch didn't wanted to talk about his limitations. "Harold-"

                "Good night, Mr. Reese."

                Sharp reply caught the breath in his lungs. John Reese screwed up another conversation. With a sad sigh John closed his eyes and willed sleep to claim him very soon.  For one second he hoped Harold will have a nightmare. Just so he had an excuse to go to his room, calm him down and apologize. Of course it didn't happened. Life usually didn't go like John wanted him to.

*****

                John was on his feet one second after the bell ring. His automatic response was reaching for gun. Invisible gun under unfamiliar pillow. Bear went crazy with barking somewhere near. John finally staggered to open the door and watched in sleepy haze one of Harold's co-workers. Harold's what?  What he did-

                "Sorry. Is Henry awake? I tried his phone, but it's off. I'm driving him every morning."

                John didn't know what he was talking about. Things came to him very slowly. He was at Harold's apartment. Why was this guy giving him a once over? He looked at himself. Naked from chest up. Nothing new. John slept without his- Scars! The big one from the gunshot and a few minor ones from knifes. How many mistake can someone do in a few days? He couldn't think clearly. 

                "It's alright, I'm awake, Andrew."

                An arm sneaked around John's waist and shirt was pushed into his stiff fingers with the other. "You should probably get dressed, Jack. I have to go."

                John was absolutely blinded by Harold's fake smile. How long did he slept? How the hell was even possible he slept that hard? He wasn't usually confused, not without alcohol. They didn't drink last night. He didn't have any nightmares. And today he didn't even hear Harold preparing for work? That never happened before. It was in John's nature sleeping with one eye open.

                "Andrew, could you give us a minute?"

                "Sure. I will wait in the car, H."

                "Thank you... John?"

                The soft voice made John's heart flutter. He didn't have anything under control. He hated being off guard. Harold was watching him with understanding. John hurt his feelings yesterday. Why the hell would Harold look at him like this? They weren't friends. They-

                John looked at the scar on his abdomen. Mark Snow almost killed him in a  parking lot and Harold went through town to get him away. Harold's fingers were still on his waist, specifically on the main scar.

                "You are in my apartment, John."

                Of course he was. Why did Harold called him John? He didn't do it with open doors. It was too dangerous. The only reason could be he was scared for him. Why would Harold be scared for him now? There wasn't any danger, he opened the door for his co-worker- Without checking! Without  any weapon! Almost asleep. If it were Greer's men they would be dead. Both of them. One mistake after the other. Harold wasn't safe with him.

                "John, look at me!"

                He opened his eyes with Harold's command.

                "What's happening?"

                Deep breath. "She chose wrong," John hesitated a moment. One sentence wasn't enough. "Your Machine. Root told me Machine wants us together. She wants you protected. But I'm not good enough for that job. She should be enlisting Shaw. I just opened the door without weapon. Don't you get it, Harold? I failed all over again."

                "What in the heaven's name are you talking about? You didn't fail. You did the right thing. Mr. Reese- Right now is not the time to discuss this. I need to go to work. You have to get dressed and walk Bear. Will you visit me this evening?"

                "I'll be here." John knew Harold was right. They have to talk. John has his work cut out for him. Contact Root. Explain to her the importance of swapping him for Shaw. Right now Harold needed level headed agent with itchy finger. Not the guilt tripping one. Another deep breath. It was a good decision. Good for Harold. Right for Harold.

                John was a bit distracted when he still felt hand on his torso. "Harold?" Pointedly looked down. The fingers started to feel like brands on his skin.

                "I'm still not sure if you're going to pass out or not."

                "Why?" John asked uncertainly.

                "You have a death grip on my door, Mr. Reese."

                John followed Harold's stare. Oh. He did understand Harold's concern. His knuckles turned white a long time ago. With his co-worker, Harold tried to keep their cover intact because John was losing it. He took a step back. Grateful to be out of Harold's space. How can he even touch him? He wasn't in his head. What if he hurt Finch?

                "Are you with me now, Mr. Reese?"

                "Yes." His voice was completely flat.

                "I need to go. What is your cover story for the scars?"

                "Line of duty. Honorably discharged from military. Now security consultant."

                "Alright. I will be here around seven."

                John didn't have any other chance to talk, Harold was limping away. What the hell was wrong with him? Same mistake anywhere else and they would be dead. It had never happened before. John was always in control of his actions and definitely of his brain. Why the sudden sleepiness? He could go three days with minimum sleep. What the hell was wrong now?

*****

                John was walking with Bear, when he saw familiar face with a white poodle in front of her. Bear was calm. He went to Root and let her pet him.

                "He needs our other mutual friend," John didn't bother with saying hello.

                "I have it on a good authority you're doing a great job."

                "She's wrong. I endangered him today."

                "Someone is making trouble for him?"

                "I wasn't alert enough. I can't be near him. Tell this to your friend and try to come up with another plan."

                "She knows everything, Jack. And She's happy for you too. You're doing fine. Suck it up. You are where you have to be." Root took the poodle into her arms and was walking away without another word.

                Freaking unbelievable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6 - Harold's POV**

                Harold spent time on breaks with computer. It was fascinating. He couldn't try to justify his own sense of guilt from the moment he started working on Machine. But first sign of John feeling guilty, and he almost tripped over himself just to find anything at all on wikipedia to help him.

                There wasn't anything useful. What a catastrophe. Harold was one hundred percent sure John wanted to be extracted from his life. And Harold couldn't find a reason for him to stay. The idea of John doing something wrong was absolutely ridiculous. He was remarkably good in his job. His moral compass was strict and unbreakable under any circumstances. Harold believed in him with everything he has. He needed another approach. The obvious answer to that question was staring him in the eyes all the time, sit with John and tell him how much he meant. And yet... Harold still tried to find something else.

                With a sad sigh he looked at internet browser. The pages on wikipedia rearranged themselves. On his monitor was a paragraph marked in grey square.

                **_DISCUSSION: ONE ELEMENT OF CONVERSATION, SHARING OPINIONS ON SUBJECTS THAT ARE THOUGHT OF DURING THE CONVERSATION._**

Harold's heart started to beat a little faster. It was the Machine reaching out to him. His throat was parched. "This isn't a good idea." He didn't doubt her ability to listen and watch out for him.

                Of course the Machine never obligehim.  

                **_POSTTRAUMATIC STRESS DISORDER: THE CHARACTERISTIC SYMPTOMS ARE CONSIDERED ACUTE IF LASTING LESS THAN THREE MONTHS, AND CHRONIC IF PERSISTING THREE MONTHS OR MORE, AND WITH DELAYED ONSET IF THE SYMPTOMS FIRST OCCUR AFTER SIX MONTHS OR SOME YEARS LATER._**

"Is this your idea of telling me to find a therapist?" he spoke softly. Wrong guess. Pages were again on the move. This time they stopped on "Guilt (emotion)".

                **_BOTH IN SPECIALIZED AND IN ORDINARY LANGUAGE, GUILT IS AN AFFECTIVE STATE IN WHICH ONE EXPERIENCES CONFLICT AT HAVING DONE SOMETHING THAT ONE BELIEVES ONE SHOULD NOT HAVE DONE (OR CONVERSELY, HAVING NOT DONE SOMETHING ONE BELIEVES ONE SHOULD HAVE DONE)._**

                "Oh." It wasn't about him at all. The Machine was talking about John. He could hear John from this morning. 

                _"She chose wrong. She wants you protected. But I'm not good enough for that job. She should be enlisting Shaw. I just opened the door without weapon. Don't you get it, Harold? I failed all over again."_

                Harold knew about PTSD. "You want me to talk to him? That's why he was acting strangely? He wasn't sleeping before and today was the first night he actually slept long enough to rest his mind, hence the confusion?" For a moment Harold's heart was gripped with fear. "How do you know that? Did I forgot something?" Is this Machine's warning? Their identities were compromised?  

                Harold grabbed his phone with a text message without thinking. There was a picture of John and Miss Groves in a park. The Machine doesn't have an access to his apartment.  Which meant Samaritan doesn't have it either. Thank god.

                So the Machine saw John talking with Miss Groves about leaving Harold. She found a solution, the most effective and logical was Harold talking to John. Assuring him. Erasing his guilt. "Thank you," he whispered. His artificial intelligence was looking after him again.

                For one second Harold missed the old days. Hours of teaching the Machine to find him in pizza places without cameras or in the middle of a street. Before She found him Grace, before Nathan betrayed him and endangered their lives.

                Harold was staring at his monitor. Pages changing again. To his browser's history a few days back. _Meanings of flowers._ He turned around. On his lips was the biggest smile Harold could muster.

                Andrew was walking in his direction with a new bouquet of flowers. Pink roses = friendship. Pink tulips = caring. "It looks like Jack Frost is stuck with me." Harold was scared for a minute Miss Groves will agree with John. Obviously she care about John's guilt and the Machine knew it.

                "H?" Andrew put the vase on his desk. "We have to talk about this. You have a nice young man sending you flowers. I found him almost naked in your apartment and you're still sticking with the PG rated story of your date? I think you left out the juicy details. Am I right?"

                "I certainly not." Harold have to smell them. It was so like John... For a moment, he didn't register what the thought meant. Then he opened his eyes. Of course it wasn't like John. This was for a show. It wasn't real. Harold was just glad John didn't forget to do something nice for him. No. Wrong again. Something nice for Henry. Something others can talk about.

                _Thank you for the flowers._  

                He wanted an immediate answer. Nothing came. John was probably at work. Jack Frost has his day job. It was understandable to not receive a reply, but still disappointing. Unfortunately his day only turned worse. Through the afternoon it started to rain. With a change of weather his pain level moved from dull ache to screaming and almost unbearable in no time.

                At six o'clock Harold wanted nothing more then go home, take some painkillers and spend the night in a bath tub, not talking to John. Reschedule was the only option, but he didn't have a heart to text him. Harold knew John would understand. He could spend the night alone in his bathroom or bedroom and John would sit on a couch and play with Bear. They certainly were around each other long enough for John to know Harold's body's reactions.

                Harold left the flowers on his desk, not having the strength to carry them through long corridors. Andrew was silently walking beside him. No reason to chat with him. Obviously everyone could see his discomfort. He was startled from his thoughts when Bear appeared in front of him.

                "Hello boy,"  Harold scratched behind dog's ears and looked up. John was waiting with an umbrella and flashing smile on the other side of the sidewalk. It was a nice sight. Harold limped after him, not giving a damn about drizzling rain. "Hello."

                "I brought gifts."

                And just like that John Reese was the best thing that ever happened to him. He received a box of strong painkillers and small bottle of water. "How did you know?" Harold didn't spend time waiting for an answer, he was swallowing two pills and drinking.

                "Bear knocked them off the cabinet. I thought you could use them."

                "Thank you." After one long grateful look, Harold stilled with confusion. It felt like John was waiting for something. He knew his partner's slightest expressions. Patiently waiting wasn't hard to guess. Oh. New relationship. All of his co-workers were probably watching them. Harold has to play along. Jack Frost  brought him painkillers on a rainy day. Thank you wasn't good enough. Not with all the gossip about Jack spending the night in the apartment and opening door half naked.

                John couldn't sell their romantic affair alone. With a sad sigh Harold carefully put his hand on John's chest and grab his shirt. Without a doubt he knew John will bend his body down with the slightest pressure, because Harold asked him to. He kissed John's cheek bashfully, looked behind himself and waited for everyone to go find their rides or bus stops. It gave him a few precious seconds to avoid John and to calm himself. This was a bad idea. Harold couldn't do it regularly. It was embarrassing. It was giving him a panic attack. And he felt like this show will sooner or later ruin his friendship with John.

                "Let me guess. You are a private person, Henry?"

                Harold turned around. He just had to see John's face. He knew that amused tone and there wasn't one he like more. "Yes. I'm going to be gossip of the month. But I won't be telling anyone a word about my love life."

                He tensed when John unexpectedly bend again and whispered to his ear: "Your secret's safe with me."

                Harold was pretty sure it was all for a show. It must have looked like John was nuzzling his face in an answer to a previous kiss. But he still didn't breathe until the other man took a step back. His pulse was madly racing. Bad idea. It was so far from comfortable, he wanted to yell. Especially at John Greer and all his Decima men.

                "Your ride is here."

                "H?" Andrew was slowly walking to them.

                Harold blinked and for a second wanted nothing more than disappear. His wish wasn't granted. It usually wasn't. "Yes?" Why was he blushing? It was just a smallest of kisses on a cheek. It didn't make sense. Maybe it did. Uncomfortable and embarrassing didn't even cover it.

                "Do you want me to take you home? Or both of you? I don't mind."

                Before he could utter anything, John was excusing himself. It happened fast. Some work related problems.  Longing look to Harold's face. Apology. Squeezing Harold's arm. Wishes of feeling better and then he was gone. And all of Harold's confused feelings turned to annoyance.

                "You sure you didn't forget any juicy details?" insisted Andrew.

                "Oh, don't be ridiculous. Does it look like I'm stripping him in the middle of a street? Bear, come on." Double pat on his good thigh and Bear was walking by his side.

                "It was nice of him, H."

                "What?" Harold was careful to not aggravate his injuries when he was settling himself in the front seat. He didn't realize Andrew let Bear in the back. His mind was running for million directions. They have to talk. They need to stop meeting in front of his co-workers. It was agonizing one time. What if they would have to do it again? He couldn't look John in the eyes.

                They never touched like that. Their working relationship. Partnership. Friendship. Whatever it was. It was never like that. Yes. Harold treated John's minor injuries without problem. It was necessary to touch his skin. Yes. John extracted him from difficult situations, helped him on his feet and walk sometimes. But this was something completely different. Before? They were only looking after each other. This? Kisses on the cheek and who knows what else would they have to do... It was just not right and absolutely terrifying.

                "Are you listening to me or daydreaming about him?"

                It was a joke. Harold knew, but his mouth was speaking before he could edit himself. "The second option."

                Not daydreaming exactly. Just thinking about John. He turned away, watching the people on the streets and left Andrew to his laughing. Why did the Machine wanted them together? What was so important they have to endanger themselves? Maybe if they knew the reason, they could go back to avoiding each other.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7 - John's POV**

                John knew it wasn't fair to bother Finch. Not when Harold was in a severe pain. Bad weather was making his injuries worse and his temper as well. John doesn't need CIA training to notice. Harold's upper body was always stiff as a board. Throw a rainy day to the mix and he radiated pain, discomfort and misery to one mile radius. He deserved to suffer in privacy of his apartment. Without John there.

                The most important talk of their partnership could wait a day or two. It wasn't a big deal. It wasn't like John was hiding from him. Maybe a little. Pretending to be Harold's sweetheart wasn't an easy task. It was surprisingly unnerving. He was used to faking  feelings and acting like someone's plus one. But pretending to be Harold's soon-to-be lover, that was a different game altogether.

                John valued friendship with Harold too much. They have a barrier between them from the first moment. Well, second or maybe third moment... He almost snapped Harold's neck in a hotel room in the beginning. But after... it was something else. He was very aware of their differences. John was a deadly trained ex-assassin, who could accidently kill him in two seconds. Harold was fragile. Shockingly efficient with computer, bossy and stubborn, resourceful,  but still too fragile for John's liking. They both felt better if the distance between them was at least half the room.

                If John could choose one person on the entire planet with absolute certainty the person will never be near him by his free will faking this charade, it would be Harold. He scared him enough times over and over again when they argued about Marshal Jennings's case. When Joss died. When he succumbed to his revenge for Simmons and the head of HR. And finally when John was ready to kill congressman McCourt like the Machine wanted them to.

                John felt like a simple solution - faking a relationship - was the easiest thing. They both pretended so many times in everyday occurrence. It was not supposed to be a big deal. But he was wrong. John forgot government took Harold's Machine, killed his best friend, he was forced to leave Grace and go to hiding with broken body and broken heart. They betrayed Harold again by letting Samaritan online, destroyed the sanctuary he loved - the library. They took Harold's only chance to atone for all the bad - his access to Irrelevant list. He lost everything. And after one teeny tiny kiss on the cheek, John didn't want to continue. Harold's reaction was crystal clear. John was forcing himself to Harold's space. The only thing Harold had left - his personal space and dignity. It just wasn't right.

                When the phone started ringing, John knew it was Harold. No one else would bother him. "Miss me already, Henry?" If he tried to sound amused, maybe Finch will think all was alright in their world of chaos.

                "What if I say yes?"

                "Can I help you?" John missed the earpiece. He wasn't very fond of phone in his hand. It meant he couldn't use both in combat.

                "Am I bothering you at work?"

                "No."

                "No, I am not bothering you or no, you are not at work?"

                John's shoulders sagged with sadness. After all these years he remembered Finch's exact words: _They lied to you. I never will._ Harold kept the promise. He may have hide some things from him, but never blatantly lied. And John didn't want to start doing it himself. "I'm at home."

                "Why?"

                "You looked tired and in pain. I didn't want to bother you. It must be difficult time and the kiss in front of your friends... I embarrassed you. It was the last thing I wanted." For a moment John held his breath and waited.

                "I could use some company, if you have time."

                It was so low, John almost didn't hear it clearly. "Alright. Do you want me to bring anything?"

                "No. Thank you."

                "I will be there in twenty minutes." John put his cell down and didn't move for a few minutes. Obviously they will have their talk today. The idea was a bit unsettling.

*****

                The tension in Finch's living room could be cut with a knife. There were some pleasantries at the beginning: How you doing, Finch? Do you need me to take Bear for a walk? I can find bottled water in your fridge alone, Finch. I don't need directions or assistance. You can sit and relax. My work is mainly done online. I left phone at home again. No one will bother me or suspect anything. You don't have to worry. And on Finch's part: I'm alright. Thank you for asking. No, Bear is alright. Help yourself then.

                With all these things out of picture, they both sat at their respective sides of one couch in silence. Bear was nervous just from their presence. Where to begin? John was at loss for words. He knew very well it was his time to start. Not an easy task to do. And with every minute he felt bigger remorse.

                "Harold?" John saw Finch looking at him with quiet, calm expression so many time, it was funny how undeserving it was making him feel now. "You should probably memorize this for a long time." With a wince and deep breath he revealed the most important part. "I made a mistake."

                "And what would that be, Mr. Reese? Working for CIA? Leaving the woman you loved? Working for me? Obeying me and not killing McCourt?"

                Harold looked at all of these as mistakes? "I didn't think clearly."

                "When you opened the door half naked?"

                They weren't on a same page yet. Funny. That was the only detail that bothered Finch?

                "No. Meeting you in a bar was the fastest and easiest option. But I didn't think it through. You know that. Today was a good example of how wrong and screw up our situation is. You can't stand me near you. And I don't feel comfortable having you in my personal space. I opened the door half asleep. You touched me-" Deep breath. John needed to stop thinking about the unbearable heat of Harold's hand on his skin. "Touching me half asleep is the surest way of ending your life, Harold. I still have muscle memory ingrained in me. It's a miracle I didn't kill you on a spot in front of your new best friend." 

                "Excuse me if I over stepped the boundaries, Mr. Reese. But you were not capable of reaction.  When I'm asking you, how you doing, your answer is always fine. You weren't fine. I assessed the situation. You didn't talk to Andrew, so I tried to bring his attention to me."

                John was on his feet in a second. Angry as hell. It wasn't safe to be in Harold's proximity like this. "That's just it! You are not suppose to be near me no matter what!"

                "Stop being ridiculous!"

                Awesome. They were now yelling at each other. Day couldn't be better. "Ridiculous?!"

                "Yes!"

                John stood straight as a surf board, when Harold was in his space, few inches from him, daring him to move with determination on his face.

                "Go on, John. Make me move! Put your hands on my shoulders and push me away!"

                Why the hell didn't Harold move? It wasn't the wisest thing to do. It would be deadly for anyone else. But this was Harold. Of course he didn't back down. And John finally understood what Harold wanted him to. He would never cross this line.

                Finch gave him his lop sided smile. "This is ingrained in your core, John. Not killing people. Protecting. It was the reason I chose you. You would never put a hand on me in anger, haze or sleepiness. We are not talking about me being scared of you. Yes. Sometimes, I am terrified of your actions and what you are capable of doing. But I am never scared of you as a person."

                They still weren't on the same page. John's heart was beating panicky in his chest. Maybe the problem wasn't in Finch. Maybe the problem was him. The idea of having someone near was almost nauseating. And it was the reason John's pulse increased anxiously. Because every time someone was in his space, it meant danger, torture and manipulation.

                Harold never took a step back. John couldn't remember one time when Harold would do it. It was always him. He was trying to be out of Harold's proximity. Protect himself. Protect Finch from him. Soft voice for Finch's benefit, to assure him he wasn't angry. Light tone of their banter, to show his good mood. Staying half the room away in strategic positions, being prepared to put himself in front of Harold in case of danger. And at the same time telling himself no one could put a knife in John's back or shoot him. They both had trust issues longer than Hudson river. But Harold overcame his own. John? Not so much as it appeared.

                "Can we now sit back and talk about the true problem?" Harold asked calmly, sitting himself back on the couch awaiting for John's reply.

                "Which is?" John was almost afraid to know.

                "We have two problems, Mr. Reese. First one is your guilt. I'm not the best person to talked to you. But you have to know something very important. I never blamed you for my kidnappings. You never failed me. They weren't your fault. Just as much as it isn't your fault opening my door without weapon. We have our covers, Mr. Reese. You are not CIA agent anymore. You are Jack Frost. Henry Dellany's friend. You don't have weapons! You don't need them! It's pointless to even discuss your blame. It shouldn't be an issue here. You were asleep. Every human being needs sleep, John. Or we could turn the tables. Do you blame me for making your situation worse, when you need to rescue me? I'm not  helping you enough. I am not capable of running with my body. Do you blame me for it?"

                John averted his eyes. All the things Harold said were true. "Of course not." They needed to focus on important things, his state of mind really wasn't important. "What's our second problem?" Harold's sad sigh caught his attention.

                "Relationship status, Mr. Reese."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. And I'm sorry, next update will be on Sunday, once I'm back from my trip to Paris.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8 - Harold's POV**

                Now was the time to finally focus on the true problem, when John accepted Harold's words. It was unsettling to see him figuring out things in front of Harold. His face was unreadable on a regular basis, indifference was John's default face. Never letting people in. Cracking jokes, making everyone at ease, but never relaxing himself.

                "You can tell them I'm horrible. You don't want to date me. We are going to stay friends."

                "You know just as well as I do, Mr. Reese, this option isn't now available for us. There are expectations. I can't say anything wrong about you. No one would believe me."

                "Alright. We can have an argument in front of them."

                "And they will believe we are still friends? After an argument in public?" Harold knew John was right. Neither him or John thought this through. They both focused on excuses to see each other, but they didn't think about future. What they would have to do to still have their covers intact. Harold needed to move, walking was good for exercise and thinking.

                "We can't do it again. You are uncomfortable with me near you, Harold. If you say it's not because of my previous job, I believe you. But the truth still stays. I can't force myself on..."

                Harold didn't give him a chance to finish a sentence. "I would react the same way if it was Miss Shaw!" He wanted to show him it has nothing to do with John.

                "Another trained assassin. Understandable." 

                "Then Miss Groves," she was the second one who popped in Harold's head.

                "Harold, I would think you are suicidal, if you wouldn't react the same way with Root. I'm not comfortable having her in one room with you. She kidnapped you, cut your palm open and almost killed you!"

                "Then detective Fusco or anybody!" How, in the God's name, would John believe him? He didn't want to discuss any of this. "Mr. Reese..." his voice held a bit of panic. "John-" Harold was nervous again, agitated and completely helpless. He stopped in his tracks and faced his friend with defeat. "John-" he whispered, rising voice was pointless.  Cold dread washed him from head to toes. It was almost like out of body experience. Like he watched himself from afar.

                "John, I have a spinal fusion surgery of three vertebras. I didn't have a day without pain since September 29th 2010. It has nothing to do with people and everything to do with me being in pain. I can't let anyone touch me," his voice shaking, Harold allowed himself one deep breath. "I don't remember how it feels like to be touched without pain." And that was the end. Lowering his gaze to the floor, Harold tried to stay composed. This was the last time he was baring his soul to John Reese. First and definitely last.

                After four years Harold still harbored hurt feeling thanks to Nathan and the bomb on a ferry terminal.

                "Harold?"

                He lifted his eyes up. John carefully put a hand on his shoulder with barely any pressure.  

                "Can you keep going, Harold?"

                Very good question. But he knew a better one. "Can you? I don't know how long we have to pretend. And if your answer is yes, you should know there are two months till Christmas, Mr. Reese. Christmas party in my office. Two months till we both have to go there as a couple. You played your role too good. They now believe you're falling for me. All the flowers, text messages, nice gestures. It's going to be a nightmare." Reese took his hand away, Harold almost didn't register the movement.

                "Do you know why the Machine wanted you protected?"

                Harold shook his head. "I have no idea, Mr. Reese. Sometimes I'm a little anxious without you. But I didn't spot anything out of ordinary. The Machine watches me every day. My cover isn't blown apart. You don't need to stay in my life to protect me, John. There is nothing to protect me from."

                Harold didn't want to have the decision on himself. John has just as much right to end their charade. "Do you remember what you told me, when we held congressman McCourt? You told me you don't believe in what the Machine wants us to do. But you were still willing to sacrifice him, because I built it. And you trusted me."

                Sad sigh. "I still trust you, Harold."

                "Then stop thinking about what the Machine wants you to do, John. It wanted McCourt out of its way. It was logical. But I didn't built it to make a decision. I built it to offer alternatives and humans are the factor deciding what to do. You and I? We don't kill people. You honored my wish and let the senator alive. We are humans. We are building machines. Not the other way around. We have the right to decide, what we want. So tell me what is it YOU want, John?"

                The silence was unbearable. Harold realized a mistake too late. It wasn't a good plan to force John in the corner and waited for an answer. That was not their working relationship at all. He always gave Mr. Reese a chance to do things his way. John was the one in the field. John's life was on the line. He should give John more time, not demanding answer right away.

                "I have to stay, Harold. I couldn't live with myself if I left you and the threat was real. I still have to trust your Machine, even if everything looks good. There is no other way."

                "That is not acceptable. I want to know, if it is something YOU want. You could have a normal life again, John. Work. Friends. Maybe a companionship in a future. Anything is possible." Harold watched a distant, faraway look in John's eyes. It was almost like he was picturing this new life and then he swallowed and closed his face again.

                "But neither of them would be you, Finch." Raising a corner of his mouth, John shrugged his shoulders. "Someone once told me I need a purpose and a job. So I have the same purpose and job ever since - protecting a friend. Come hell or high water. Do you want me to stay?"

                Harold's breath caught with emotions. "Yes," he whispered. The truth always remained the same. He wanted John in his life. He didn't want to be alone. He just hoped they weren't making a mistake. Betrayal never came from enemies. It was always from friends. And it would kill him if John ever turn his back on him. And just like that, it was John Reese switching into his efficient persona.

                "I won't be waiting for you after work. We could avoid public displays of affection with no problem but we have to go on a few dates somewhere other than your apartment. Could be suspicious to holed up here every time. Dinner or drinks. Bear's walks are good excuse. And we have to start interacting with your colleagues. One or maybe two. Your friend Andrew is a good choice. Not right now, but soon."

                "Alright."

                "We can pull this off," John whispered with a sad smile. "We faced worse."

                Harold reminded himself the days before their separation. Grace's kidnapping. Switching on a bridge. Greer's determination and his evil plan with Vigilance. Poor Mr. Collier and his friends. Harold was convinced his days were over, when the man pointed a gun at him. He was waiting for one bullet to end his life and John saved him. It was true. They faced worse. And John was always there, by his side or somewhere out there searching for him. They could definitely pull this off. The worst already happened, they were separated. "Yes, we did."

                Nothing comes close to the terror and helplessness  Harold felt, when he figured out they kidnapped Grace. She was safe now. No longer near him, but safe none less. No longer their concern. It was the important part.

                "I need you to tell me three safe words, Harold."

                "Excuse me?" For what?

                "One for the time you feel on edge. One you will use when  something's definitely not right. And one when you think you are in danger."

                The explanation was plausible and probably the best thing John could suggest. But it still rubbed him wrong way. "I don't think it's necessary, Mr. Reese." Their covers were very carefully detailed by Miss Groves and his Machine. He doubted they could unintentionally create easily spotted errors.

                "I don't want to hear what you think, Harold," John smirked. "I just want three words."

                Harold tried not to smile. John should see this coming. "I'm definitely pregnant," he deadpanned.

                "Really?"

                He enjoyed that exasperated and amazed expression. Like John couldn't fathom Harold would be joking. It was funny. "We're getting married?" Second try was almost better than first. Harold was starting to enjoy himself.

                "Who would imagine, I work for a twelve year old, Finch?"

                But Harold could detect the amusement in John's voice. He spent three years waiting every day to hear it. It was the tone of voice that always reminded him no matter what happened, John won't lose his head and do everything in his power to help their numbers. It warmed his chest. "You're an ass... I can go on and on, Mr. Reese."

                "I will remember to tell you the same, when you'll call me scared, once you think something's happening."

                "Alright, alright. Book, bookcase, library. Anything else?"

                "Oh, I could think about a thing or two."

                Harold turned away to watch Bear and hide a smile. The good dog was almost the whole time of their conversation in bedroom. Probably agitated. He never like them arguing. When the coast was clear, Bear was happily laying in the corner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9 - John's POV**

John was spending the night again. No matter what Harold would  think. His own decisions were sometimes better ones, so he didn't bother to inform Finch. He just went to the bedroom, found a pillow, a blanket and started to make himself comfortable by removing one article of clothing after another. A jacket, then his shirt with its three millions buttons.

                "What are you doing, Mr. Reese?"

                Obviously Harold didn't stay in the kitchen long enough. John mastered his innocent face. "How does it looks like, Harold? Preparing for bed, maybe?" He put his shirt carefully on the back of a couch.

                "Why?" Harold made two steps into the room.

                John almost heard the gears in his head.

                "Is it my blanket and a pillow? You're not staying here, Mr. Reese."

                John couldn't work with Harold's panic. But this was a slight alarm. It was important to stay reasonable. "Your friend will pick you up tomorrow. I need to be here. Introduce myself properly. Being a good... boyfriend..." The word was stuck in his mouth and left a bad aftertaste.

                " You will not refer to yourself... with that hideous, atrocious name. Ever, Mr. Reese. Not by an accident. Not by a joke. Not even..."

                "Don't ruffle your feathers, Finch. We'll think of something suitable. What do you suggest? _Sweetheart_ is out of question," John insisted grumpily. Another aspect he didn't think about. Harold really didn't deserve to go through all these things.

                "We're not sixteen anymore, Mr. Reese. The term _boyfriend_ is highly uncomfortable to me."

                "Don't worry. I don't love it that much either. The same stands for lover, cupcake, soul mate,  dearest one, teddy bear and all the other..." He could taste the panic on his own tongue. This was so, so freaking... awful. One day he will kill Root and John will be enjoying himself every minute.

                "Partners or companions, Mr. Reese. I could live with one of these."

                "A partner is good." John's relief was palpable. The brain finally caught with him. "But maybe I could stick with a close friend first? We don't know each other that well. It could be suspicious, if I called you my partner after one week." Was it a good time to remove his undershirt? Or  would it be uncomfortable for Harold?

                "A good point."

                "And I have to invite you to my apartment, Harold. With a cable, my newest stereo and probability Samaritan is watching from the outside with a traffic camera."

                "It won't be a problem. Is your apartment bigger than mine?"

                "No."

                "Then we could get away with you being more comfortable at my place after the visit. And I have a dog, Mr. Reese. I need to be with him. I don't want him in an unfamiliar territory."

                Harold was good at making excuses. A bit unsettling, if someone would ask John, but needed in various situations. This was one of them. "I have to check  with my working schedule and call you back tomorrow afternoon."

                "You do that, Mr. Reese."

                "I need to introduce myself to Andrew. He's always hovering over you, touching you. Jack needs to be sure he's not stepping on anyone's toes." Harold's jaw dropping was unbelievably funny.

                "Please tell me you're not serious."

                "Oh, don't sell yourself short, Harold. You're quite a catch. Smart looking in a glasses with a nice smile if you twist your face enough and think of puppies once or twice a month. An unbreakable faith in goodness within every criminal that comes your way. Heart of gold for ex-assassins, even the ones who tried to kill you. You're a walking..." _...nightmare, horror, disaster..._ "...dream."

                "You wanted to say _disaster_ , didn't you?" Harold's eyes turned cold, just as his face.

                John screwed up again. It was meant to be a joke, but his sarcastic tone turned it into reproach. The truth was he admired Harold for all of them. For his ability to smile for Bear, even if the government took everything away from him. Finch saw the goodness in people, in spite of the fact his best friend and practically the only person in Harold's life betrayed him. If it wasn't for Harold's integrity and faith, John himself would be dead a long time ago. He admired Harold especially for his day to day communication with Root. It has had to be difficult for him. And he never told a word. Now was the time to apologize.

                "Harold-"

                "I do understand why you criticize me, Mr. Reese. I made a lot of mistakes in my life. I often think I won't be able to pay for them in a span of my lifetime. But I'm not appreciating to have them thrown in my face. That is highly inappropriate. Good night, Mr. Reese."

                John couldn't  catch his breath soon enough. The blow to his intestines was too intense. All his fault of course. How could he doubt it? He just insulted his only friend. A click of the door was the perfect sign to told him their conversation was over. Harold didn't even left his bedroom door open for Bear.

                The dog lifted its head from the floor and watched him accusingly.

                "Just shut it," John said quietly. No need to rub his face in another stupid argument. What did he expect? Harold worked twelve hours per day. He was on a strong painkillers and John went and  hurt his feelings. Of all the things Harold could said, he decided for the most hurtful ones. Just to push John away. It was absolutely righteous of him. John was  disrespectful. Something he didn't want to be towards people, Harold especially.

                Grabbing his shirt, John was starting to get dressed. Harold needed space. He was lonely when John met him, but one thing didn't change. Harold was still a private person, used to his solitude. And John was there every minute, invading his privacy, sending him flowers, telling him what to do to keep their covers intact. The situation has to be tiring.

                John knocked on Harold's bedroom door and waited patiently until his friend opened them.

                "Yes, Mr. Reese?"

                He was received with a cold shoulder and Harold avoided any eye contact. Nice. "I'm going home, Finch. I don't want to bother you tonight. You can call me, if you have a nightmare." A pregnant pause. John didn't expect answer, but the silence was really depressing. As if John made a mistake, he could never take back. "What I said earlier, I used the wrong words, Harold."

                Finch was looking with determination somewhere behind his shoulder.  

                "That's not what I think about you at all." Harold couldn't even cut him some slack. One perfectly stoic mask remained on his face. "Finch-"

                "Why do you have this sudden need to apologize, Mr. Reese? It's not necessary. Our situation is not going to alter itself. Tomorrow I will be Henry Dellany, who's finally thinking about giving someone a chance. If you approve of my personality traits or not, will hardly change our plan. You don't have to make me comfortable. You're entitled to have your own opinions."

                John was seeing all that hidden sadness, but was completely helpless with what to do.

                "You don't have to consider-"

                "Harold, I was wrong." John couldn't stand the disappointment in Harold's voice. Like he hated himself. Like Harold knew he wasn't good enough. Like Harold accepted his own faults. Like the only important thing was their cover story.

                "You changed my life, Finch. You believe in giving people second chance and then the third when they screw up. That's something I'm amazed of. Not something I want to reproach or criticize you. I didn't want to insult you. I don't know how to behave around you."

                If that wasn't the main problem. How to be a friend to someone who maybe didn't want his friendship, but settled for companionship because John was there. They were co-workers, partners in crime sometimes. But never really good friends, who told each other their problems.

                "I don't know how to maintained the lines between us. What is acceptable and what's not."

                John could finally spot a difference in Harold's posture.

                "We're both tense, Mr. Reese. It is quite alright. I accept your apology. But I would feel better, if you'd go home. At least today."

                "Of course. Whatever you want." It was fair. Pushing their boundaries could wait. They both have to calm down and start anew. "I will call you tomorrow, Harold. Or the day after?"

                "Tomorrow is alright."

                "Good night, Harold." Nodding, he started to walk towards the main door. It wasn't the most positive way of leaving things between them, but it was better than silence.

                "Mr. Reese?"

                John looked back. Who the hell wouldn't? It was Harold. They have to be face to face.

                "You once told me, after detective Carter's death..."

                John felt the slight pang in his heart every time someone mentioned his friend.

                "...and the plane, you only came back to protect me. I'm important in this world, your words precisely. Do you remember?"

                Nodding again. What else could he do? Of course John remembered.

                "You should know, you're someone the world can't afford to lose either. You don't value your life or health very much, but they are important to me. We may be on a very different path, then we were when we first met. But I want to believe, it will all end someday. I hope my creation... my Machine will end the era of Samaritan. And when the day will come true, I hope you will be standing beside me with the same faith you have in me all this time."

                "Always, Finch."

                John was rooted to the carpet. He couldn't look away from Harold's eyes. That traitorous heart of his was beating in his chest like it wanted to rip his ribcage. He wanted to go somewhere and cried himself to sleep how undeserving Harold's words were. His life wasn't important at all. The work they were doing, yes. Harold could find hundred of men like John and continue in their work. The essential part was Harold, but John desperately wanted to be with him till the end.

                John was instantly scared. Jesus Christ. When did this happen? When did he started to want to be with Harold for the rest of his miserable existence?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. :)


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10 - Harold's POV**

                Something happened. Finch couldn't pinpoint the exact word he said or the right sentiment he wanted John to understand, but suddenly his face was like an open book. John Reese wasn't the kind of man who would show his emotions. He was collected in every situation. Now he looked absolutely lost.

                "John?" he whispered.

                "I have to go, Finch."

                "No." He saw John acting the same way only once. No matter what he wanted right now, Harold couldn't let him go. John's head wasn't in the right place. He was lost inside his mind. Just like the time in a hospital, when he collided with Harold's wheelchair. "John..." But it didn't stop him.

                "Mr. Reese!" Harold raised his voice in a commanding tone. He didn't do this often. But it has had the desired effect yet again. John stopped in his track and turned around. _What to say?_

                "I apologize for whatever it was I said. But you can't go out like this. You don't have a coat. It's October, Mr. Reese. I won't have your pneumonia on my consciousness."

                It still didn't penetrate the fog John's head was in. Harold could see he was struggling with himself. "John, I am sorry to be this rude, but I'm not going to let you go. I saw you in this state when they told you about Mrs. Arndt's death. I must insist you spend the night here."

                Harold used the wrong words again. John stopped being lost. He started to look terrified. He shouldn't mention the woman John loved. A terrible mistake on his part. John didn't talk about Grace. It was only fair return the favor with Jessica Arndt.

                John was still too close to the door. Harold went after him, but stopped after a single step with a confusion of his own. John Reese, an ex-CIA operative, backed away from him. If Harold would guess his expression, he would say John was frightened.

                "Mr. Reese?" he whispered carefully. Harold sometimes find it extraordinary how John could easily masked his emotions. Within a second, John's razor sharp focus was back on him. Completely under control, closed off and with a slight smirk.

                "I didn't know you care so much, Harold."

                It was unsettling. Almost disturbing to tell the truth. No one would believe John was looking lost moments ago. "Of course I care, Mr. Reese."

                The smirk stayed on John's lips, but it wasn't a truthful expression. It was just a mask to hide his feelings. John made a big show of putting on his jacket, then taking his coat. "You need your beauty sleep, Finch. I will call you tomorrow. Good night."

                There wasn't a chance Harold could ask if he's ok. He wasn't suppose to see John this vulnerable. But somehow he always did. When they told him Jessica Arndt was dead. When Simmons killed detective Carter in front of John. Harold saw John's heartbreak two times. He didn't understand what happened this time. What did he say wrong?

***

                Three hours of sleep and then work. It was pointless to think about John's reaction, when Harold needed to be Henry Dellany, the number cruncher. The morning came with no text from John. His lunch break was a sad affair. The sunny afternoon wasn't better and there were no new flowers either.

                Harold finally picked up his phone around four and for the first time dialed John's number in his own initiative. "Hello, Jack."

                "Henry," John answered with wary tone.

                And a disappointment settled in Harold's intestines. Of course. He saw John's vulnerability yesterday. There has to be a punishment. "You can't make it." Although they didn't agree on any plans, it was perfectly clear they won't see each other for a while.

                "I'm sorry. I'm currently packing my bags. I need to go out of town for a week. A new contract arrived. It's a very wealthy and important client. I can't let him wait. It's a bad advertisement for the business."

                "Oh." The sincerity in John's voice was evident. Maybe it wasn't his avoiding technique. It was just a bad timing. "It's alright. We can reschedule. Give me a call when you are back in town." Harold  almost hit himself. What in the heaven's name possessed him to dismiss John this way? He forgot to play his role as Henry Dellany! He waited for John's soft laugh. They were starting a relationship. They have to talk more than once a week. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid!

                The heavy silence was his only answer. "Jack?" Harold asked after a moment.

                "Yes."

                "Are you alright?" This wasn't like their usual banter. Something happened,  maybe it was the same thing from yesterday.

                "Just tired. I didn't sleep very well last night."

                Harold was overwhelmed with a panic for a moment. Isn't it Henry's time to tell Jack, he would miss him? He couldn't force himself to tell him that, never mind it was the reasonable curse of action. But it was almost like a physical barrier, which Harold couldn't overcome. His throat was dry. His palms were sweating and the words couldn't left his lips thanks to one reason only. They were too close to the truth. "When will you come back?"

                "Next Wednesday."

                "So I can invite myself to your place for Thursday?" Harold asked lightly. The heavy silence and a meaningful pauses were really tiring.

                "Sure. I will pick you up around seven?"

                "I look forward to it."

                "Henry?"

                "Yes?" _Please, don't say you missed me last night. Please, don't make me say it in return._ Harold understand his own reluctance, but they were just words. Words...

                "You can bring Bear with you. My landlord's policy is we're dog friendly neighborhood. And he himself owns a crazy biegel."

                "Thank you." Harold was holding his breath the whole time. John must have heard him. He was sure. They both knew each other's reactions. Especially via phone. They spent three years listening to each other. Speaking. Arguing. Harold silently working on his computer. John fighting or stalking their numbers. Sometimes just hearing the other one breathing was enough to ground them.

                "And you can definitely text me anytime. I'm working, but half of my time is going through someone's house and the other sitting by the computer and designing the best security. I will make the time for you. I promise."

                "Thank you."

                "And you don't have to thank me for the flowers."

                Now Harold heard a smile. But... "What flowers?"

                "Bye, Henry."

                "No. Wait. What flowers?" The silence was Harold's only answer. He didn't receive any flowers. John-

                "H?" Andrew was again walking to his cubicle with a bouquet of purple hyacinths in a simple white vase. "Is this really necessary? I'm starting to feel jealous. I want some pretty flowers too. Or do I have to be gay to receive them?"

                "Find your own man," Harold winked his way. His fingers didn't stop for a second. He was scanning the page for a meaning.

                **_Purple hyacinth is the flower most commonly used to symbolize regret. A bouquet of purple hyacinth expresses the bearer's sadness over a situation and asks for forgiveness._**

                Harold could do nothing else than write John a text message. It was essential to speak his mind.   

                _You are forgiven, Mr. Frost. And thank you again. They are beautiful._

This time he didn't expect anything back. Harold was content with the knowledge of John's whereabouts. He focused his attention on a computer and didn't think twice about ringing landline.

                "Henry  Dellany."

                The only answer was static. Harold was scared for a moment. He thought about a Machine. He couldn't work on a number, not without John. But the static faded away and left behind only the sound of a heartbeat. The real heartbeat. Not the artificial one you could make with a sound system. More like a recording of an ultrasound.

                Harold was sure it was from the Machine, but the meaning was lost to him. It definitely wasn't his heartbeat. He was calm before. And even now, slightly panicked, it didn't match with his.

                This was not right. Harold put down a receiver. He now appreciated John's plan with safe words. "I hope you would be giving me warning, if I was in any danger," he whispered. His hope for survival was tied with his Machine, when John wasn't in the same town. No answer from the Machine as usual.

                He carefully crafted a text message for John.

                _If you have a spare minute tonight, would you give me a call? I will be only reorganizing my bookcase._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading :)


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11 - John's POV**

                John's head was hurting. He rather didn't mention his gritty eyes. If he said he slept maybe two hours, it would be an exaggeration. All because of Harold. He was screwed. There were no other words. Harold admitted to him, he cared about John. It wasn't a surprise. He knew already. But the rest he figured about himself... that was a hard pill to swallow.

                John Reese wanted to spend his life with Harold Finch. Not a big deal. Sooner or later the admission was inevitable. He was always loyal.

                John Reese didn't want to die. Not because he valued his life or cared about himself. The reason was simple. It would hurt Harold. Hurting Harold was inexcusable.

                John Reese stopped being heartbroken after Jessica's death, he moved on. He moved on, because he had to protect someone else, respect someone else, care about someone else, love someone else.

                John Reese was fucking in love with Harold Finch and the idea was driving him up the wall. He didn't see the signs. He didn't put two and two together. He referred to himself as quite intelligent. Obviously he was a fucking idiot. All the staring and his shortness of breath. All the traitorous heart beating. All the sweaty palms. The hurt feelings, if he screw up their conversation and offended Harold without meaning to.

                John just wanted to crawl under a rock and died somewhere. And then he would kill himself again, because Harold would be hurt. He vowed to never had another too important person in his life. He lost Jessica and it almost killed him, then Carter. John was so blind he didn't even see it after Harold's third kidnapping. No it would have to be Harold himself, who would force him to admit the truth.

                _John, I am sorry to be this rude, but I'm not going to let you go. I saw you in this state when they told you about Mrs. Arndt's death. I must insist you spend the night here._

                John's head was elsewhere, but the reason wasn't Jessica. It was the idea someone could take Harold from him and it was scaring him shitless. John took a deep breath. Incoming text message. Talk about the Devil himself... Who else.

                _If you have a spare minute tonight, would you give me a call? I will be only reorganizing my bookcase._

_Bookcase._ John couldn't believe it. He was parking at a roadside and dialing Harold's number in a second. "Henry! " He contemplated his plan to turn the car and go back. One moment out of town and something was happening.

                "Jack, can you give me a minute?"

                John assumed Harold was going somewhere quiet. He was back relatively shortly.

                "I'm here. I have a strange phone call. I don't know who was behind it. It just rattled my nerves a bit. I just wanted to call you and make sure you are alright. Everything is alright, yes? I don't know if you have a minute. Of course you don't. You are on your way. You have to-"

                "Henry! Calm down! What phone call? Do you need me to come back?" Harold's panic was understandable.

                "No. It was someone's idea of a joke. Maybe. I don't know."

                "What did they say?"

                "Nothing. It was just a beating of someone's heart."

                John blinked in confusion. "I'm going back." What creep would do something like that? "I'm on my way. Give me a few hours to call my boss. He will send someone instead of me. I will be back as soon as I can sort things out."

                "No."

                Harold sounded better, calmer now. "I... I have a friend looking after me. I will be all right."

                The Machine. And hopefully Root. Of course Harold's AI would warn him if something was up, but it was almost like Harold's panic migrated to him. "Are you sure?" John knew the Machine was always there. It warned them. It always saved them. Once upon a time Root wanted Harold dead, but she was now on their team. She would save Harold, if he needed help. But the idea of leaving him now, when he was nervous, was rubbing John a wrong way.

                "Yes. I will be in touch. You will be the first to know if something happened."

                "Ok. But I want you to call me. Three times a day. Just to be sure."

                "Jack, it's not necessary. I will..."

                Any other time John would smile and joke. Not this minute. Not in his state of mind. "I will turn around and make myself comfortable on your couch, Henry. Or you can call me three times a day. Whatever  you want. But there is no other option."  

                "I'll do it," Harold promised.

                "Good. Tell me about the phone call."

                "There is nothing else to say, Jack. No heavy breathing, no threats. Just a heartbeat. Like listening to an ultrasound of a pregnant woman. It was definitely an adult heart. And it wasn't mine."

                "Any other distant sounds?"

                "No. I could hear it loud and clear without interruption. Maybe it was a joke. From my co-workers. They are jealous. They want some flowers too."

                John was aware of Harold's technique. He was trying to distract him. But he just couldn't forget. "Henry..."

                A slight pause. "Yes?"

                "Just tell me you are alright." That was the only think John wanted to hear. Nothing else. 

                "I am unharmed and calmer, when I have spoken to you. I'll be careful. I promise."

                John's  heart was finally easing the frantic beating. Maybe he could spend one week away from Harold. But he needed reassurance. Three times a day didn't even cover it. Every hour would be much better. "Call me anytime. I don't like this arrangement. I'm too far away."

                "I'm sure you'll be notified if something is going to occur. I have no doubt."

                Harold blindly trusted the Machine with his safety. John didn't have any other option than to follow his example. "I believe you."

                "I have to go now, Jack. I'm at work."

                "Be careful."

                "I always am, Mr. Frost."

                John clenched his jaws. Harold didn't have the right to lighten the situation. He was somewhere far away from John. With an unknown threat. This was no time for jokes. This was completely serious. John's freak outs were irrelevant now. Harold's safety was priority number one.

***

                One entire week. John was glad he was finally coming home. Well, not "home" home. Just home, the same city as Harold, after this long period of time. Harold didn't received any other calls. Nothing out of ordinary happened. And John just wanted nothing else than to lay his eyes on Harold and see for himself. The idea of him waiting a whole day was completely ridiculous.

                So John was currently lurking behind the corner of Harold's work building and waiting. He only wanted to see him from the distance. Nothing more. John's heart was racing with anticipation. His mind completely focusing on the space around him. Everything was peaceful.

                For one second John was content. Maybe Harold's phone call was just a prank. Some kids were bored to tears, dialing unknown numbers and scaring people seems like a great idea. It was a good explanation as any other. John's face almost managed a smile, when he heard a text message. He didn't hesitate. It must be from Harold. He was sure of that.

                _Two o'clock._

                John was scanning the surroundings in a second. No possible threat. Everything looked- Fusco. The detective from Homicide was waiting in the line for hotdogs. If Harold wasn't careful, Lionel Fusco could blow his cover to next week.

                It wasn't a good time for a call. But he saw Harold's number. "Yes?"

                "Jack, are you all right?"

                It was obvious Harold was spooked. "Yes. Why?"

                "I had the phone call again. A few minutes ago. And I am alright. It was on my cell, not a landline like before. I thought it could-"

                "I need you to stay in the building. I will pick you up myself."

                "I can't wait here, Jack. Andrew is my ride home. I'm not..." There was a slight hesitation. "I'm not capable of walking home. Not today."

                "I will call a cab. Stay there," his voice was resolute. "Wait for me."

                "How long?"

                "Just a minute. I'm already here. I will catch a cab for us." And John has to be careful to not catch Fusco's attention as well. John put a phone into his pocket, straightened the collar of his coat and walked the distance to the building.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. :)


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12 - Harold's POV**

                Harold's back was killing him. The limp progressed through the day. He didn't know how it  was even possible to be upward and walking. He could predict the weather himself, if someone bothered to ask him. It was a cloudy day and he was waiting for the rain.

                "H?" Andrew watched him nervously. "You're not going?"

                "Jack told me he will be here any minute. I will wait for him." It was the best decision he could do. Harold was unsettled because of the strange phone call. And he was positively scared for John. Something wasn't right. John ordered him to stay put. That never happened before. John wasn't that kind of person who ordered people around.

                "I can give you both a ride."

                "It's not necessary. He will take care of the cab."

                "Ok. I will wait with you."

                "You don't have-" His protests were useless. Andrew was guiding him through the crowd leaving the building. And John will kill him. Harold was carefully watching people around them. Few meters from the entrance, he received a text message alert. "It will be Jack." But it wasn't. Harold's breathing halted, as did his steps. The message was very clear.

                _STOP_

                It was like a flashback. The same message his Machine sent him and saving his life. In the past Harold would ended up under the car, if he wouldn't listen. He wasn't suppose to leave the building now. John warned him. The Machine warned him. He made a mistake. And he was scared.

                "You alright, H? You're pale."

                Harold couldn't talk, his ability to speak was gone. Only the everlasting panic remained. He didn't make mistakes that often. He couldn't believe...           

                "Hey! Glasses!"

                Harold froze. This was the threat. Someone who knew him. Someone who will undo the last six months in two seconds flat. He tried staying calm, looking behind Andrew's shoulder and not reacting. Maybe the good detective will understand. He worked as undercover operative sometimes. Surely it wouldn't be too hard to guessed what Harold's indifference meant.

                "Hey! I'm talking to you! You don't know me now? I'm not good enough to talk to?"  

                "I think he's talking to you, H," Andrew said with a confused expression.

                Harold didn't have any other option than turning around. "Yes?"

                Detective Fusco frowned. "You have nothing to say to me now?"

                "I'm sorry. Do we..."

                "Henry!"

                Harold could finally exhaled. Thank god, John Reese in all his glory. "Henry, does this man bothering you? You're yelling at my partner here, mister. He is disabled, but he's not alone!"

                Harold was almost afraid of John's growling. He watched curiously how their dear detective took a step back. He was finally on board with them.

                "Sorry. I thought we met. You look familiar."

                John was still standing protectively in front of him. He interrupted their stare off only to gave his attention to his phone. Several text messages. It wasn't very good for them. Harold only helplessly watched John drew out a gun from his coat, checked the magazine and paid the attention to people around them. He didn't like John with a weapon, but it didn't shock him as it always used to. Andrew on the other hand...

                "Oh my god. He's crazy," his colleague whispered.

                When Harold's phone started ringing, he didn't bother to pick up. He stepped to John's side involuntary. John meant safety. The tension in John's expression was frightening. Before Harold could talk to him, his friend whirled on a spot, took him by the waist and crushed him to the side of the parked vehicle. Harold only yelped in surprise, he was too good in masking his pain.

                Harold was sure John didn't register his discomfort. His eyes were everywhere, while he was pinned to Harold's body. "Jack?" he tried to point out his predicament. But John Reese's protective manner was very hard to penetrate. He was completely focused on his assignment. At this moment to keep Harold alive, shielding him from everyone. "Jack?"

                It should be scary, seeing John in this situation, being at his mercy. John with the gun so close. But Harold never felt safer.

                "Something's happening, Wonderboy?"

                Trust detective Fusco to stay in the middle of the bad situation and doing it worse. Harold paled a bit more when he heard another series of text messages. He knew that every single one of them was a location of the threat. And the calm ex-CIA operative was pushing him to the cold metal underneath him more and more.

                "Jack-"

                "Don't move. Just don't move," John murmured repeatedly. 

                "You're crushing me," Harold breathed painfully.

                "Hey! Tall, dark and angry! Police officer here! Do you need help? Do you want me to arrest anyone?"

                "Pickpockets. A whole gang of them," John recited their locations.

                Obviously they decided to steal in the middle of the crowd and his Machine knew. Which meant only one thing. The calls to Harold weren't relevant to this. Two separate events.

                "Do you want to help me with half of them?"

                Oh, dear detective was feeling generous today and very clever. He thought he will interrogate John somewhere else. 

                "I can't leave him."

                Harold's heart stopped for a moment with John's reply. He couldn't raise his head and look at his face. That range of motion was out of his physical capability, but he could talk. "I am alright."

                "I don't care," John whispered angrily to him. "I'm not letting you out of my sight. Scratch that. Out of my arm's reach!"

                It was absolutely pointless to argue with John. With a defeated sigh, Harold needed to try anyway: "You are crushing me to a door handle. You're scaring Andrew and you're still holding a gun." Harold was for a second sorry for everything John had to endure.

                John pressed a forehead to his and released a pained moan. "I can't," he whispered in apology.

                "Oh." Abruptly two and two were four. Harold understood. John thought he will lose him. His nerves must be fried with adrenalin. John Reese lost everyone he ever cared about. It was understandable. He was protective of Harold, the only person left alive. Everyone else were already dead.

                "Alright. You need to move me. Just a foot away. I don't want you to release me. Take all the time you need. Just a few inches. The door handle is hurting me. You don't have to let go. I don't-"

                Before Harold could say anything else, John manhandle him to the side and pressed himself to him again. The relief was instant.

                "H?"

                "Everything is all right, Andrew. You can go home."

                "Are you sure? He doesn't look good."

                "We are alright." Harold ignored the gun against his left hip. He saw Andrew leave them alone. John wasn't moving, he was just a breathing statue. But in his periphery vision, people were looking at them strangely. Of course they were.

                "You have to hide the gun. Or someone will call the police."

                "You are not safe."

                "I am always safe with you." Harold didn't move or averted his gaze. It was like his living room again, when John opened his eyes, pulled away for a fraction of a short distance and looked at him. There was the naked, raw feeling of helplessness in John's face. He was scared out of his wits. He was completely unaware of his surroundings. He was lost.

                And for the first time ever in his life, Harold looked on John's expression and wanted nothing more than to hug the man and comfort him in any way possible.

                Harold glanced down at John's lips and thought about kissing someone other than Grace. He would do anything to erase the expression from John's face.

                "Hey, you two! Are you going to start making out or something?"

                John jerked a little and straightened his back. Harold could almost see the anger coming back, like a tidal wave of rage. He quickly grabbed John's coat and didn't let go.

                "Thank you for your assistance, detective. That would be all." It was the best solution. John would only insult the poor guy or punch him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. :)


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13 - John's POV**

                John is going to kill Fusco. Very slowly, very painfully. The second he will be done with Root, it's Fusco's time. He wasn't sure about the way he will do it, but he could improvise in a situation. It wasn't a big deal. He could wait him out somewhere, take him to an abandoned property and make a nice afternoon for both of them. Well, for himself. He wasn't so sure what Lionel's thoughts would be on the subject.

                "So now I'm suppose to go?"

                Wrong. John will kill him now! But he didn't have a chance. Finch was still holding him on a spot and calmly repeated: "Yes, detective. No need to thank us for the arrest."

                There was no threat. John could breathe again, but the idea of letting Harold go, was giving him a heart palpitations. Especially with Lionel in their near proximity. It was a disaster in progress. One word from the man and their cover would be blown to next Sunday.

                "He's gone."

                Who? Lionel. Good. Now back to the important part. How to let Harold go? It was absolutely necessary. He was glad Harold tolerated his presence so long, but the adrenalin wasn't from his system and John was man enough to admit to himself he was scared to death. It wasn't a good time to be in his presence.

                For a second John closed his eyes and forced himself to think. Harold needed to be somewhere safe. Preferably without John. It wasn't an option now. So next best thing was in order. Harold needed to be somewhere safe. That was the part he had to focus on. "I will take you home." But the cab John found before was already out of sight.

                "That would be much appreciated."

                John heard Harold's voice strained with pain. Walking was out of question. The moment he started to finally think clearly, John was amazed Harold didn't say anything. He was waiting him out patiently. No matter how much John was invading his space. It had to be uncomfortable for the smaller man. "I'm sorry." He unwound the hand from Harold's waist and took a step back.

                "It's perfectly alright."

                It wasn't. It started raining. Harold was in pain. John hurt him with all the manhandling and now he was drawing attention to them. Everything about this day was wrong. John was determined to not put his hands on Harold again, keeping his distance was the first priority.

                A few steps to the road, one hand gesture with a  glare and a cab was near him. "Henry?" John opened the door and waited for Harold to situated himself inside. He didn't touch his back or help him inside and he was sitting with enough space between them, they could play a game of chess.

                John was really satisfied with his resolution. He could keep in mind to not invade Harold's personal bubble. He sure as hell had to restrain himself physically, when he saw Harold's problems with getting out of the car, but it was for his own good.

                John didn't say a word until they were in Harold's apartment and both of them turned their phones off. Just to be sure, they extracted the batteries. The silence was unbearable.

                "Where is Bear?"

                "With a sitter."

                "You have a dog sitter?" John wasn't smiling. Of course not. But the amusement was really refreshing.

                 "I work twelve hours per day, Mr. Reese. I can't let him be here alone."

                Another silence. So the small talk was over. "I'm sorry."

                "For what, Mr. Reese? You were protecting me. My Machine was protecting me. I was just plain stupid to let Andrew walk me out on a street. If I stayed like you ordered me to and like the Machine instructed me, we wouldn't have to be in this mess. I'm just glad it wasn't a real danger. I don't have a problem with thieves. I would give them all the money and the situation would resolve itself."

                "They could have hurt you." _Just as I did._ John really wanted to hit something. He was careless.  "You should... take some painkillers." Wrong thing to say. He knew Harold so long and he was still making a stupid mistakes like this.

                "I'm not a wilting flower, Mr. Reese. I will take the painkillers when I decide to take them. Thank you for your input."

                The cold was dripping from Harold's tone. Very bad thing to say, but the anger was much better than talking about the real issue. The problem John wasn't ready to address. His blinding panic to the idea of losing Harold. John waited for the bedroom door to be slammed.

                "Just to be clear, Mr. Reese. I am not an invalid. A blast of the bomb didn't kill me. I am absolutely certain the door handle did less damage. You didn't organize the thieves. It is not your fault someone was trying to mug me and my co-workers. You stopped them. You protected me. That is the pertinent thing. Not my aching back. Stop blaming yourself for everything."

                Well, they will have that conversation obviously. "You didn't need me to hurt you more, Harold. You said it yourself. There wasn't any serious threat."

                "But you didn't hurt me."

                Harold was walking to him with a purpose and John didn't register he took a step back. Just to be sure. Just to be out of his reach. He hated himself for the pained expression on Harold's face.

                "John-"

                "I can't stay here tonight," John whispered. "I will, if you want me to, but..." He didn't know how to finish the sentence. The silence was really unnerving. He screwed up again.        

                "Of course. I don't want to inconvenience you more than I already did. Goodnight, Mr. Reese." Harold didn't wait for John's answer and went to his bedroom. Yep. John screwed up again.

***

                John was tossing from side to side and couldn't fall asleep. No matter how much he trusted his abilities and the knowledge about Harold being safe, he still couldn't stop himself from imagining the worst case scenarios. What would he do if someone hurt him? What would he do if the wound was fatal? A boring normal life wasn't for him. He couldn't spend the rest of his days being security consultant. John loved the chance Harold gave him. He wanted to spend his life helping Numbers.

                And without Harold, it would be absolutely pointless. He could put Leon behind a computer and the Machine would probably communicate with him somehow. But without Harold, it wouldn't be worth it. John really didn't have the energy to care about their Numbers. He cared about one person only. If he'd lose Harold, what would become of him then? 

                A glance on his alarm clock informed John it was almost two in the morning. Yesterday was a series of bad decisions culminating in the worst of them - he left Harold alone after a very close call. It was something inexcusable.

***

                John waited for a few seconds in a doorway of Harold's apartment. He let Bear sniffed his hand. He didn't doubt the dog's ability to took a chunk of any other intruder. Their intelligent canine knew he couldn't bark at him. Not in the middle of the night, not when Harold was asleep.

                John hesitated in front of Harold's bedroom. This was really not the best night of his life. On one hand, he didn't want to invade Harold's privacy. On the other, he just had to ensure himself Harold was safely asleep. It was absolutely without doubts the reason John went in the middle of the night to his friend's apartment.

                John pushed the doors lightly and held his breath. Luckily, Harold was in a bed and looked peaceful.

                "Is something wrong, Mr. Reese?"

                John was a trained CIA agent, but in that moment, he was on the verge of a heart attack. "No. Sorry, didn't mean to wake you."

                "It was Bear jumping from the bed, not you. For a moment I thought someone was breaking in, but you are the only person he's allowing inside."

                With a sad sigh, John has had to give up any pretence and tell him the truth. "I'm sorry I left you alone. I shouldn't have. It's my job to keep you safe."

                "If I'm not mistaken, I offered you a job. Saving Irrelevant Numbers. I never said a word about me. I was willing to die for our cause. You are the one always chasing my kidnappers playing the knight in shining armor."

                "I never liked armor." This time John did alright. He could sense Harold's amusement. "I will let you sleep, Finch. The sofa's calling my name."

                "Yes, I can hear it from here. Goodnight, John."

                John was glad Harold gave him a way out. He could insist on the reason why John always went after people who was threatening him with any harm. But he let him go. "Just so you know, I will always go after you. I don't care if it's not my job. We're not leaving people behind. You taught me that with McCourt."

                John didn't expected an answer. But he still wanted to know something else. "Would you change the past, Harold?"

                "With a full knowledge of the consequences of our actions?"

                "Hm."

                "You are not a weapon for me, John. I won't use your skills for my benefit. I chose you for your compassion. We are helping people survive and we are putting the other half off of the streets. I am very aware how dangerous you are. But you will never be a killer for me, John. The final decision is always on you, but I hope we will always have a higher standards then CIA and their one bullet policy."

                John was glad for the darkness. It hide his smile. "Always. Goodnight, Harold."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. :)


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14 - Harold's POV**

                Harold opened the front door in the morning and almost stepped on Andrew's toes in a hallway. "Oh, Andrew. I thought you will wait in the car?"

                "Can we talk?" 

                "Of course." Harold's tone was wary. 

                "I'm guessing we can't go in. You're not alone," his friend said carefully.

                "No. Jack is still sleeping." Harold tried to mask his anxiety with a small smile. They created a problem yesterday. One that must be addressed very carefully.

                "Ok. We can talk here for a few minutes, right?"

                "Of course." It was only morning. After yesterday's events, Harold wanted a peaceful day. Preferably at home with John, but not everything was possible. "What do you want to talk about?"

                "Him."

                _John._ Harold masked an exasperated sigh masterfully.

                "I'm sorry I went home yesterday. I shouldn't have left you alone with him. I'm really not a good friend, you know. What I'm trying to say is... I care about you, H. We're friends. I know you're an adult. You will do whatever you want, but I was scared. He had a gun. Like a real big gun in his hand. I never saw a gun for real. I never wanted to. What if he did something with it and hurt you? It happens all the time."

                Harold could finally breathe again. For a moment he was scared Reese was right and Andrew was in fact confessing his love for him. "Thank you for your concern. I appreciate it. But you don't have to be afraid for me. Jack would never hurt me. He tried to protect me. With his body, as you could see. That's what he did in a military. I do agree with you, Jack did it carelessly and he scared a lot of people in the process. But that is something he did for the entirety of his career. He was always protecting people. He was a soldier not long ago. It's still ingrained in him."

                "No, you don't understand. The gun..."

                "Andrew, Jack was on an active duty six months ago. Soldiers have a hard time adjusting to normal behavior."

                "He owns a functional weapon now."

                "It's in his nature. He's a security specialist. He can't sleep without one," he tried a small joke. But it was clear Andrew didn't believe him. His friend didn't have any sympathy for Jack Frost. What did the Machine show him on a wikipedia? He needed a new approach.

                "Jack lost all of his friends in a bad mission. He was injured. You saw the scars. They discharge him with a slight PTSD. If he feels secure with a weapon, I don't mind. He doesn't put it on a table with dinner or showering with it. He's just carrying one on the streets because he feels better. This is a dangerous world. I'm not scared of that. Or him. He didn't shoot anyone, he was just protecting me. He didn't go after the thieves himself. The police handled it."

                "Ok."

                It wasn't over.  Harold still heard _but_ at the end of the sentence.

                "What about at home, H? Does he... treating you... good or something? Jeez, no. God, it sounds horrible. No. Not in bed or something... This is embarrassing. What I mean is... flowers and painkillers are nice things, but is he a decent man? I saw him with a gun, pressing you to the car without any thoughts about your injuries... I hate this shit. Just tell me he's good and I will shut up."

                Harold ignored Andrew's blushing cheeks. He did understand his concern. "Jack is a good man, Andrew. He doesn't mind me not having a television. He will listen to my opera collection, even if he doesn't like it. He's having his arm around me when it's raining, just to prove me, I can rely on him if I slip up. He's opening doors and letting me go first to ensure no one is jostling me from behind. He's always there when I need to talk to someone, no matter what time it is. He's sending me flowers to show his affection and he's not pressuring me to anything."

                Unfortunately Henry Dellany couldn't be a private person. Not when things could go south so very quickly.    

                 "We are not sleeping together, Andrew." With a gulp Harold added: "Not yet. Knowing each other is more important to me. Jack knows about the accident and he's respecting my limitations. I need to feel secure before I show him my scars and he doesn't mind this snail pace of our relationship. He needs someone to trust. Someone to feel comfortable with. Yes, we are attracted to each other. That is out of question. But the important thing now is to know each other. The rest will come later."

                Harold could finally congratulate himself. The tension in his friend's shoulders eased. Obviously their conversation was satisfying.

                "That's good... I think. Ok. Let's go. We have work to do."

                "Do you want to have dinner with us? I would like for you two to meet properly." They have to stick with John's plans. Meeting Andrew out of the office was one of them.

                "Yeah. I would like that. Let me know what he thinks."  

                "Jack wants to meet you. He asked me himself not long ago." Harold really wanted to congratulate himself. The ride to work was spent planning their meal. Andrew appeared calm. All was finally well and on a very good track. He just hoped it wasn't a calm before the storm.

***

                "So which basically means, I have to play the boyfriend card tonight?" asked John later at Harold's apartment.

                "Yes, Mr. Reese. That would be my understanding of the situation. You mention the dinner. I invited Andrew by your name. He accepted. The result? Andrew will attend dinner in my apartment this evening. And you will be present as my... please, don't call yourself _boyfriend_ again. Every time I hear the term, I'm starting to feel an unpleasant rash over my body." And that would still be an understatement.

                "You couldn't give me a few days?"

                "What for?" The reasoning didn't make very much sense to Harold.

                "Oh, I don't know. Let me guess. Maybe I need to go out and buy you a present. That's what solid boyfriend would do. I have to dress nicely. I have to make sure our stories of first date, first kiss, all the other firsts are solid, Finch."

                Again with the term. John was trying his patience. He was unfortunately also right. But some things Harold could make easier on him. "That won't be necessary. Our firsts didn't happen." What did he missed? Why was John watching him this way?

                "Didn't ha... So you basically told your friend we are only FRIENDS. And I'm spending nights on your couch just for the benefit of my aching back?"

                "Well, no." Harold started to feel confused. "Of course not. I told him we have a lot in common. I like you. You like me, obviously. We are spending time together to know each other better. We are not sleeping together, because we are not in a serious relationship yet. " Again with that strange look. Did he miss something?

                "Harold, who in their right mind would believe that?"

                "Andrew obviously did. We have an extended conversation about-"

                "Harold, why do we pretend there is something between us then?"

                "We need more excuses to be together. John, I am aware of the facts. I simply told him we didn't share one bed. That is all."

                "Please, tell me you didn't mention the couch?"

                Well... Harold couldn't remember. He tried to think things through from Andrew's point of view. And for a moment he hoped the earth would swallow him. It didn't make sense. If Henry knew Jack Frost almost three weeks, it didn't make sense to be near him after the episode on a street. Who in their right mind would want to spend the time with a stranger who could handle a gun? Who in their right mind would let that stranger into his home? Who in their right mind would believe in his goodness?

                "Oh dear..." Certainly only Jack's lover would know about his gentleness, calm demeanor and sincerity. And Harold told Andrew the exact opposite. "Mr. Reese..." Interaction between humans was never Harold's strong suit. Why wouldn't he think it through or talk about it with John first?

                "Not one of your greatest moments, Finch."

                Harold watched John crumpling on the couch. He stared through the carpet. Damage control was needed. "Can I..."

                "Make a bigger mess? No, I don't think so."

                John's voice was flat and completely emotionless. "Oh dear." Harold collapsed near him. "What do I have to do to undo the damage?"

                "A lot of things you won't like, Finch. We need to show him the opposite. Some very solid reason for falling in love with Jack Frost. I have to be all over you. I need to be a lot more closer and you have to have hearts  in your eyes every time you look at me."

                "Oh." There wasn't any other answer Harold could give. It was only his fault. "I will do my best."

                "Let's hope it will be enough."

                Harold was silent. He watched Bear putting a big head on John's knee with a whine. He could probably spend his life watching John accept the comfort. It was so... peaceful. John with his face in Bear's fur. "Mr. Reese... John. I owe you an apology." They could die if they don't convince Andrew. He could try to figured out John's identity. And Samaritan would easily find them.

                "Not yet, Harold. Let's not think ahead."

                It was the worst dismissal Harold ever heard. He needed his focus to be only on Andrew tonight. If not, it will all be Harold's fault.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. :)


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15 - John's POV**

                If John would say something in their defense, they were really trying. Harold more than anything. John knew it was uncomfortable to be near him that much. And Andrew really was convinced. He sometimes looked at Harold and has this little smile on his lips, like he tried to be  subtle, but Henry's behavior really amused him. Like he listened to Henry about him not loving Jack yet, but still thought to himself Henry was halfway head over heels already, which was good.

                Through the entire night, Harold wasn't more than two steps away. Always keeping a hand on John's back or near his thigh on the couch. He really was good at pretending. But the real deal was yet to come.

                John tried to be subtle as he watched Harold go to the kitchen, assessed if his limp was bothering him too much. So far the answer was no. Another point for them. With a sigh, John averted his gaze and smiled at Andrew. "So..."

                "So?"

                That man has the courage to smile back. Any other time would John look at him with his murdering stare. Not now. They have a relationship to sell. "You spent a lot of time with him, Andrew. Do you think..." One dramatic pause. And then the kill shot. "Do you think he's alright? Happy even?"

                "With you? Yeah, I think so. He was always... a bit guarded around people. At work. At the pub. Everywhere. It's just how Henry is. But since you came along, he's more... open, I would say. Less nervous. Calm."

                John smiled a little. "Good to know."

                "If you break his heart, I'm gonna kill you," Andrew finished his speech. "I don't care if you're a soldier. He deserves to have something good in his life."

                "Agreed. If I'm-" John hated this conversation. Pretending to care about Henry, when he in fact care about Harold, was absolutely nuts. "If you love him, I can step aside. He's important to me. But I want his happiness. If you..."

                "No, man. It's not like this. We're friends, Jack. I'm just looking out for him."

                John wanted to wipe away that funny smirk of Andrew's. Very badly. Instead he just blinded him with a smile of his own. "Ok." Of course he tried to suppress it the moment Harold stopped in a doorway. There was again a role to play. Jack Frost, soon to be lover of Henry Dellany.

                "Oh. Did I miss something?" Harold looked from him to Andrew.

                "Nope." Andrew was faster with an answer.

                "Then why are you two smiling?"

                "I was telling Andrew some stories from the army days, Henry."

                "You can't lie very well, Jack."

                If John's face contorted into smug smirk, no one could blame him. That was probably the funniest thing Harold could say. They both knew differently.

                "Oh, you know me, Henry. I'm an open book. You are Mr. Everything-is-private-and-personal-so-let's-not-talk-about-it."

                "I'm sure you know enough about me. Do I hear any complaints?"

                That was so blatantly NOT private and personal, John watched Harold with mouth still hanging open, when Andrew looked from John to Harold.

                "You have to be kidding me. You are going to flirt with each other in front of me?" Andrew was laughing hysterically. 

                John knew how bizarre it would seem, especially from someone like Henry. Not to mention Harold. In one sentence Harold completely changed Andrew's view of them and denied the conversation about not having any firsts. And it was so endearingly done, Andrew or John couldn't even comment his statement.

                "Maybe you two should go wash the dishes and talk it through a bit? I will wait here. And bring some wine on the way back."

                John couldn't agree more. He was on his feet half a second later and bringing Harold with himself. It was really funny how much Harold could be flustered after that bomb he just dropped in the living room.

                "Oh dear," he sat heavily on a chair. Forehead pressed into his palms. "What did I just do?"

                "It's alright, Henry," John winked at him. "I don't mind. I was a bit surprised, but I really don't mind."

                "He will think I lied to him."

                "No, Andrew will think you didn't want to scar him for the rest of his life like right now, but he will be fine. Half the bottle of wine and it's going to be easier on him."

                "Jack!"

                Harold's horrified expression told John he should dial it down. Just a little. "He already thought you didn't tell him everything. Oh, and the good news, he's not in love with you."

                "Oh god, you had to go and ask him?" Harold groaned into his palms desperately. "This is like the worst nightmare."

                "Don't worry. It was... nice, what you said." John rearranged his face into a calm expression. His eyes on Harold as he straightened that aching back. "We have to go back with that wine." They didn't have time to talk it through now. Later maybe, after Andrew's visit.

                "Wine," with a determined sigh Harold pushed from the chair. They have roles to play. 

                John ignored Andrew's smug face when they appeared again.

                "I'm so glad I don't have to go there and pry you apart with a crowbar."

                "Well, it was a close call," Harold deadpanned.

                Obviously with no interest to continue the conversation. John saw his straight back and closed body language. Time for a change of topic. "So, Andrew, Henry told me about some Christmas party you're gonna organize."

                "Yes. In two months. Me and a few colleagues always throw a party. Our superiors gave us budget to work with every year. I hope you two will come."

                "I hope so."

                "So, you are not going to be out of town again? Henry was nervous."

                "I can assure you I wasn't," Harold tried to established his point in conversation. "I'm just not used to it. Of course if you will be out of town, no one will blame you, Jack. Work is important these days."

                "I'm pretty sure I will make time."

                "You won't be with your family, Jack?"

                John saw Harold tensed. This was the conversation he was probably dreading. They didn't talk about their families. They didn't even think about their cover stories to share. "No, my family moved to Florida. Father has a severe rheumatoid arthritis. He's in pain practically all the time. The weather is a big help. He wouldn't be able to handle the winter here. My mom takes care of him. No siblings. They are happy with me being out of the army. They don't have to be so scared anymore. It will probably take some time for me to have a proper long vacation for a visit."

                "Oh. Sorry to hear that."

                "It's alright. Could be worse. I could be without work or still enlisted. I have to apologized for yesterday. The gun thing. I'm not usually caring one with me. Only on the jobs out of town. It's my responsibility to act like a soldier or a thief sometimes and break into places to assessed their security. That's why I have the gun still with me. Seeing Henry in danger, it was instinct. I will be a soldier for the rest of my life. I'm comfortable with gun in my hand. Sorry if I scared you. Henry already knew. That's why he wasn't freaking out."

                It was another point for them. Andrew still looked comfortable. "Yeah, well, he assured me you don't shower with it."

                "Really?" It was the perfect moment to lighten the mood. John smiled on Harold. "Mister Private Person is now sharing things about my showering habits?"

                "Oh, for God's sake, it was just a figure of speech. I wasn't telling him about your-"

                "Please, stop right there," John put his hand on Harold's knee. "I don't want to know how that sentence ends."

                "Neither do I," Andrew laughed again.

                "You are both acting like children. I will go wash the dishes so you can spent some time gloating about my love life."

                John watched him leave the room again with a smile. "Sorry. I have to go apologize to him."

                "Sure. Take your time. And bring me some dessert."

                John excused himself as planned. Andrew needed to see them together intimately. To know without a doubt Jack would never be a danger for Henry. It was crucial for their situation. The problem was Harold won't like his idea very much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. :)


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16 - Harold's POV**

                "Everything alright in there?" Harold glanced from the dishes. John didn't have to follow him. It wasn't necessary for their cover.

                "Yes. There is only one thing that needs to be done."

                "Oh. What would that be?" Harold put down the dishcloth and focused all his attention on John.

                "You not doing the dishes."

                "Of course." Of course, it would be rude to Andrew. He couldn't be rude. "So we have to go back there and pretend we're... made out after our argument?" That was the right curse? At least he hoped so. Personal things really weren't Harold's strong suit.

                "No."

                The guarded expression on John's face told him that much. "What should I do?" Harold asked quietly. He was surprised John heard him. This was probably the only thing John carefully planned for this evening.

                "Not much, just try to look comfortable."

                Comfortable? He watched John picking up a dirty plate. What was his plan? They already established the dishes had to be left alone. What- "Why would I feel uncomfortable?" And why would John leaned against a fridge? Why would-

                Harold watched John's inviting hand gesture. Oh... _Oh God_.

                "You need to cooperate," John whispered tightly. "I'm sorry, but you have to."

                Harold's mouth went dry as a desert. John carefully put his hands on his waist and situated him into the space between his legs. Harold was glad John held the plate away from his clothes, but the situation didn't calm him at all. His palms started to sweat. His breathing was difficult, heart was hammering in his chest.

                "Put your hands on me, Henry. Shoulders, waist. Doesn't really matter."

                Which meant crossing the space between them. Yes. That was uncomfortable. Harold couldn't imagine why would Andrew saw them in this position. What would prompt him to go to the kitchen after them? And if he really did exactly that, they won't look comfortable in each others' arms. They couldn't. Harold was too tense. He was-

                "Hands?"

                Harold was so glad John didn't force him and waiting him out. With a deep breath, Harold's palms finally descended on John's shirt. One of them on his ribs, easily spotted from the doorway, the other on his chest.

                "Try to relax."

                Relax. Yes. Very easily said, harder to do. He was completely out of his mind with the newness of the situation. He wasn't in anyone's arms almost four years. It was unnerving.

                "Show time."

                Harold jumped a little when a plate crashed to the floor. The next second, John angled his body towards his and looked into Harold's eyes. The left arm securely around his waist, the right supporting his neck. And all of that was a bit too much for Harold. John's breath in his face. John's body warm against his. John's unavoidable eyes searching his.

                Harold was absolutely sure they were looking like lovers. Everyone would look like lovers in their positions. Without a doubt. John was too good in this job. He could deceive anyone if he put his mind to it. The problem was vulnerability and caution in John's eyes. Like he didn't know what to do next. Like he expected Harold to bolt from the situation. He could feel John's strong heart beating in his chest just as his own. The heat and tension between them was almost unbearable.

                "Do you think he likes me?" John whispered.

                Oh. It was his cue to talk. Name several reasons why Andrew would accept Jack. But at the end Harold wasn't able to say anything. He was just staring at him aware of John's lips few inches from his. He was fascinated by the small space. He could easily cross the miniscule-

                Words. Harold had to find words and talk to him. "I... I don't..." It was pointless. "I can't think," he breathed out finally.

                They had to convince Andrew. That was important. And Harold didn't even know if his co-worker was in the room with them. His breath was ragged. He drew himself on his tiptoes. "Please-" The bottom of Harold's stomach dropped and he instinctively sought out John's lips. Harold was sure he couldn't stand the heat any longer.

                "Guys!"

                Harold jumped back with a painful wince. He didn't have an option of running away, John was still holding him in tight embrace.

                "I'm all for young love and all the other bullshit, but I really want something with the wine. Maybe dessert? If you could both move from the fridge?"

                Did Harold really beg John for a kiss a moment ago? In which universe was that option possible? This was probably the most embarrassing thing in his life. Why isn't John saying anything? Harold didn't even have a courage to look at him. Not yet.

                "Don't move."

                The whisper in Harold's ear made him shiver. Oh good God. He was still hypersensitive. When he  watched from the corner of his eye John dropping to his knees in front of him, he gulped for a fresh air. John was cleaning the mess from the plate. Of course. What else? 

                In that moment John rose his head and both of them stilled when they looked at each other.

                "Am I suppose to go or rather stay? Not sure I want to know the answer," Andrew was making fun of them.

                Harold escaped to the living room with a flushed face. "Oh dear God."

                "It's not that bad, H."

                Harold carefully sank to the sofa and closed his eyes. Andrew really wasn't helping at all. "I assure you, I will be embarrassed for the rest of my life in front of you. I will never look into your eyes again."

                "Oh, don't be like that. I'm happy for you. He's a good man. He treats you right. And he obviously loves you."

                "Likes me," Harold needed to correct him. "He doesn't know me that well."

                "Yet. It's nice seeing you both so smitten. Really. You have to bring him with you to our Christmas celebration. We have to meet him. All of us. Girls will love him and guys will respect him. He's a good influence."

                "I'm sure people are dying to meet him," Harold smirked sarcastically. "That's why I don't want him to show in front of our office again. People are always staring at us."

                "Well, a lot of points go to him. He's easy on the eyes. And you look happy around him."

                Harold didn't comment on that. Happy. It was almost funny how much his life as Henry was different from Harold Finch. He was absolutely sure as Harold Finch, he won't be happy. Ever. But before all of the problems with Samaritan, that's what he was. Happy and content with John and his Machine helping Numbers. He was doing a good job. He had someone he could always count on. His heart didn't want anything else.

                Harold stopped pining after Grace. Nathan's betrayal and murder was bothering him, but it wasn't acute ache. Not with John by his side. When he didn't have John by his side, there was always Bear. John's gift to him.

                From the beginning Harold was telling John eventually one of them will die. Now he was pretty sure he didn't want to die. He wanted his future with John and Bear. Not romantically. He  would be absolutely content just to have them both in his life unharmed without any kissing from John.

                "And here it is," John brought three plates with carrot cake.

                Harold couldn't look at him. He stayed seated and averted eyes every chance he got. He couldn't listen to their small talk. After a long moments, he excused himself and stayed in the kitchen. He couldn't be convinced to come back. His attention was only on the dishes. After that he meticulously slowly polished the kitchen counter and table.

                Harold was so engrossed in his task, he didn't hear John enter the room. "Will you stop hiding here, Harold?"

                His name. That caught him by surprise. "What if Andrew-"

                "He went home. And repeatedly apologized to me for scarring you for the rest of your life."

                "Well, this evening was a success. That's the most important part."

                "You played this really well, Harold," John's tone was a bit wary.

                "Thank you." Harold's back was stiff with tension again. He just wanted John to go home, leave him alone for a few days, let his nerves settle.

                "I'm sorry I didn't tell you beforehand, Harold. I didn't know if you would agree. I wouldn't put you through this, if it wasn't important."

                "I know that, Mr. Reese." Mistake! He made a mistake. This was not the moment to distance himself from John. He should tell him everything was alright. He needed to look supportive. Not like he's resenting John for the actions he planned.

                "Goodnight, Harold."

                Harold was so lost in his thoughts he didn't listen to him. When he finally turned to John, he found himself alone. A quick search of the apartment told him John left altogether. It was only Harold's fault. So he put together his phone and texted him.

                _I'm sorry. I didn't hear you leaving. Everything all right?_

                He hoped John wasn't blaming himself.

                _Always._

                Obviously John did. With a sad sigh Harold switched off the lights in the kitchen and sat on a sofa.

                _~~You didn't have to go. I was a bit preoccupied with my thoughts but I wasn't...~~  _He deleted all sentence. John would recognized his lie.

                _Will I see you tomorrow?_ That was much better.

                _Not sure yet. At work._

                Harold left his mobile on the sofa and went to bed. He did a lot of damage already. It wasn't necessary to continue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. :)


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17 - John's POV**  

John opened his eyes in the middle of the night. He heard a distinct noise and thanks to his training, he was on his feet in a heartbeat. Someone was breaking into his apartment. One second later, he stood at the door, gun in hand, muscles tensed, adrenalin flooding his body and his finger caressed the trigger.

                "It's me."

                The quiet voice startled him. John imagined some petty thief, Greer's men, maybe Root. But Harold really was a surprise.

                "May I come in?"

                John opened the door all the way without any word. What was he doing here in the middle of the night? Why was he here?

                "I almost shot you."

                "Hence me still standing behind the door and waiting for invitation."

                What the hell was that? "Everything ok, Henry?" Putting down a gun was a second nature for him in Harold's presence, the older man never liked guns.

                "I couldn't sleep."

                _Me neither._ But it was an information Harold didn't have to know. John disabled the phone, ripped out power cords from TV set and stereo, closed the curtains and finally switched on a lamp. He waited for Harold's turn to inspect his apartment, his eyes fell on every surface of the furniture.

                "I left Bear at home, Mr. Reese."

                Mr. Reese again. So it was safe. He loved Harold's voice when he called him Mr. Reese all these years. He had a certain tone. These past few years he lived for Harold to call him Mr. Reese. But now. A couple of weeks with Harold pretending undercover and he hated it. He wanted to be John. What else could he expect? It was Harold's way of keeping distance between them, keeping John at arm's length. They almost kissed. John was certain he would have kissed him breathless millisecond later, if Andrew didn't walk in on them.

                "...John."

                Oh, so Harold corrected himself, he didn't want  to create a barrier between them. Maybe it wasn't about the _almost kiss_. "Do you want to sit down?" John's small apartment  had only one room with armchair and bed, but he would gladly left the comfortable seat to Harold.

                "Thank you."

                John tried to guess the situation. What it was Harold wanted? He seemed agitated, after a moment of stillness, Harold stood up and remained his pacing. "Do you need anything?"

                "To talk," Harold stopped and looked at him helplessly.

                "Alright. About what exactly, Harold?"

                "Andrew's visit."

                John nodded in confirmation and waited. Obviously they were talking about their _almost kiss,_ which meant the ball was at Harold's side of the field. "Alright."

                "Oh, for God's sake, can you stop pretending everything is alright?"

                The entire situation was John's fault, no one could blame Harold, especially when he looked this nervous. John had to do something to ease Harold's discomfort, maybe gave him the easy way out. "I'm quite sure we played it well. Nothing happened. Everything is all right, Finch. To tell the truth I was... impressed with you. Andrew bought it all, thanks to you."

                Looking at Harold's reactions sometimes fascinated him. For one second the tension in Harold's body almost snapped, the next moment he was still as a statue and watching John. Almost in a defeat.      

                 John had to concentrate on the most important fact. Nothing happened between them and that was how it was suppose to be. It didn't matter how much he wanted to kiss him, hold him or comfort him. They had a difficult path before them, they had to interact with Andrew repeatedly and not rose any suspicion.

                No matter what John said to himself, he still saw the various expressions on Harold's face. Relief. Disappointment. Hurt. And then the worst - completely blank face. "Harold?"

                "I'm terribly sorry. I inconvenience you long enough tonight. You should sleep. I will be on my way."

                The tedious voice rubbed him the wrong way. "You can stay, Harold," John answered without thinking.

                "Where exactly, Mr. Reese? In your bathtub? In your chair? No, thank you. I like my back enough to not put them through another torture."

                John smiled. This was his Harold again. Slightly amused, mostly irritated. "You can have my bed. I mean it, Harold, stay here. You don't have to drag yourself through town in this hour."

                "Thank you."

                "Do you want me to change the sheets?"

                "Not necessary."

                John averted his eyes, he wanted to give Harold some privacy. He rather went to the closed to find him a blanket and spare pillow. John didn't mind sleeping on the floor. It was an ok option for him, he slept in worse places. Anything was an ok option if it meant Harold's presence.

                John needed a distraction. He couldn't let his mind focus on Harold. Or Harold in his bed. Or John's bed smelling like Harold's soap tomorrow morning. And he sure as hell couldn't groan in desperation. "Do you need anything, Finch? Painkillers, glass of water, more pillows?"

                "No, thank you, John."

                John finally arranged himself on the floor and spent a long time looking at the ceiling. The idea of Harold making himself comfortable so near him slowly tortured him. "Can I-"

                "I am perfectly alright. Don't worry."

                "I know." True enough. John knew that. But he was scared for some reason. Scared and worried when he heard the muffled painful noises. "I-"

                "You can't help me in any way. Please, just go to sleep, John."

                "Goodnight, Harold."

                "Goodnight."

                But the reassurance didn't help at all. John was still nervous, still worried and still helplessly in love with Harold Whatever-his-name-was. Harold switched the lights out and suddenly the entire room was in the dark. The tension in John's body grew tighter.

                After a few minutes, Harold hesitantly whispered. "Do you think we are going to do these things a lot? Pretending our relationship in front of my co-workers?"

                "We can do it on our terms, Harold. We can pull it off without the almost kissing part." John's muscles weren't the only ones painfully clenching, John's heart constricted too.

                "I trust you, John. "

                "I know."

                "I will do everything you tell me to without complaining. I just need to know in advance. It's not easy for me to be in such a close proximity of another human being, who is not my physical therapist. And it is still hard to trust someone who is constantly causing you unbelievable pain."

                "You will know, Harold. I will always tell you first from now on."

                "Thank you."

                And how screw up it was, that Harold has to ask John. Being in love with a computer genius with a broken body was unimaginably humbling experience.

                "Goodnight, John."

                He heard the satisfied sigh on Harold's lips, like he accomplished all he wanted to say. John felt like shit. Harold had to ask him these things. He was forgetting over and over again Finch wasn't a con, handler or some secret agent with conning skills. Harold was a good man, who despised lies. Harold's life was in danger from the moment he built the Machine. He created his identities to protect himself, but he still wasn't an actor. He could pass in tough situations pretending to be someone else, but his abilities ended there.

                With a sad sigh, John turned on his side and tried to sleep. He couldn't wait for Christmas to be over. He and Harold will go on their secret vacation and the most important part, they will finally meet with Shaw and Root as a team. John could do without Root, but he trusted Shaw to have her eye on her. Root was on their side against Greer and Samaritan.

                Maybe they still have a chance to save the world, get rid of Samaritan and live to say the tale about it. John sincerely hope so. He will always be by Harold's side, as long as he have time on this planet. John was sure if something happened to him, Shaw would take his place. She would protect Harold at all cost. And if they are lucky, Root would listen to the Machine and protect Harold too. No matter how screwed up Samaritan was, the Machine was still attached to Harold and tried to protect him from any harm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. :)


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As of today, the story is finally finished and has 36 chapters. :)

**Chapter 18 - Harold's POV**

TWO MONTHS LATER

                Harold Finch was stressing out. He tried to tie his bowtie under the shirt collar with trembling hands, but the nerves were getting to him. What if they were caught under the mistletoe? He couldn't even think clearly. Harold was almost scared to death. He didn't want to kiss John in front of his co-workers. Not there... No. Nowhere to be specific. Not because of some hideous festive tradition. Not because they had to. Not because someone made John do it. Well, not at all. Maybe-

                "You look tense, Harold."

                One deep breath. Harold straightened his shoulders, checked his looks in a mirror and turned  around.  "I am." God, he forgot how good John looked in a classic black tuxedo and white shirt. His insides flipped. Absolutely pointless reaction on his part, he knew John was attractive.

                "I am not good enough to convince them all, John. I am terribly sorry in advance."

                "Don't worry, Harold. You just have to trust me."

                "I do trust you. It's them I don't trust with all their Christmas festivities."

                "It suspiciously sounds like you are scared of a mistletoe, Harold."

                John looked amused. Like Harold's concerns didn't even register on his radar. How could he look so calm? "Aren't you?"

                "Not at all. I will show you why once we get there. You don't have to worry. They will take care of everything. Trust me. It will be alright."

                "If you say so." He doubted that.

***

                Harold was standing in front of the elevator, looking pointedly at every office doorway. Mistletoe. Everywhere. His nightmare came true. This was absolutely disgusting. He knew they should have decline the invitation. John was the one who convinced him to go. Their cover always had to come first, but now looking around them, Harold was panicking again.

                "Shall we?" John led him patiently to the nearest doorway with the hideous plant above them. Harold felt the warmth from John's palm on his lower back. John took his coat and threw it on a chair inside. He didn't even notice the moment John helped to undress him or John's coat having the same path as his.

                After the tense moment, Harold cautiously whispered: "People saw us coming to the building. They will wonder where we are. What are we waiting for?"

                "Making our great entrance. Do the same as me."

                John rubbed his lips with a pressure and Harold followed his example.

                "Now a bit of saliva. Ok." John licked his own lips, strategically placed Harold in the doorway and let him support his weight. "No pain?"

                "No." Harold definitely wasn't in pain. He believed in what John was orchestrating and tried to stop his wandering eyes from going down to his lips.

                "Good. Put your hands on me and stay still. Oh, and a bit of blush would be good."

                "I can't-" _...blush on command._ Harold stopped talking. John's eyes were a few inches from his. Intense. Black as night. Harold's breath halted. _Oh God. They were back in this position again._ He was blushing with no problem. He just hoped his eyes were yelling a clear message: PLEASE, DON'T KISS ME!

                "Easy now. I have to be closer. Don't move," John whispered.

                Harold froze. He couldn't move if his life depended on it. He was sure John will kiss him any second. But he only lowered his head, angled his face, and aligned their bodies closer. He didn't even realized John wasn't holding him in his arms. He had his arms around Harold on a door frame, but he didn't touch him. Harold did all the holding, John kept his part of their agreement. He wasn't touching Harold at all and left him all the space.

                "Oh my God! Can you two stop for a minute?"

                John straightened and suggestively licked his lips. "Sorry. I just couldn't resist. Your fault. I didn't put all the mistletoes around." He led Harold to the entrance of the main office with a party in a full swing.

                Andrew hurried them through the crowd. "People, keep these two apart. They were already making out under the mistletoe. This is an office party, not a free show."

                Harold looked at John astonished. The plan worked. John only winked at him suggestively. Unbelievable. How do you say thank you for something like that? John was so amazing with the knowledge of human behavior, it was sometimes more than impressing. "Thank you," he whispered.

                John just smiled knowingly, surprisingly still didn't avert his eyes. Harold couldn't move either. There was something. He knew that much.

                "Maybe it will be safer for everyone to make sure the two of you are not together. Calvin, take Jack away. Anywhere from here is good and make him feel at home," Andrew took Harold's arm and guided him away.

                Harold stayed most of the night beside the table with food. He talked with people from work  without John distracting him and could easily blend as Henry Dellany. With John by his side, he wasn't that good of an actor, something in John's behavior always threw him away. But it didn't mean he didn't track John's movement around the room the whole time.    

                Andrew cornered John a few feet from Harold, close enough he could still hear their conversation. "Any plans for New Year's Eve, Jack? Don't you two want to spent some time with me?"

                Harold's back stiffened. What? New Year's Eve? No. They can't. They would have to greet a new year with a kiss. Absolutely not. He won't be around people on New Year's.

                "We already have plans," he heard John explaining. "I want to take Henry and Bear to some technologically unreachable place in the middle of wilderness. It's a surprise. He hates phones and all the other necessary things, so I will give him the perfect weekend."

                "Oh God. I envy him. I want to be gay. Will you go out with me then?"

                "Not a chance. I'm taken, Andrew," John laughed. "I belong to one man only."

                Harold's chest started to feel warm. John could have use any words, but he preferred _taken_ and _belong._ Harold couldn't agree more. The words were true. John belong with him. Just as much as Harold belong with John.

                "You are no fun, Jack."

                "Well, that's not true. Ask Henry here."

                After a second an arm sneaked around Harold's waist. "Am I right?"

                Harold let himself be pulled to a strong chest. "About what exactly?"

                "You have to tell Andrew I'm a funny person, Henry."

                "Really? Why?" The conversation was safe enough.

                "He doesn't believe me."

                "Oh, he definitely is funny," Harold assured his co-worker. He stayed calm, even if he  accidentally bumped his neck to John's lips. No, just the tip of his nose. Not lips. John would never touch him like this without asking permission. The subtle squeeze of Harold's side was a question. Oh God.

                Harold tried to look at John with a stiff neck and smile, but didn't have the range of motion, so he only grasped his forearm back in acknowledgement. In a second Harold's knees went weak. It was embarrassing. John had to support his weight for a minute. Harold never thought about having his neck nuzzled. Not after the bomb on a ferry. It was forbidden place. No one ever touched him that way after the accident, now it was _the spot_. The soft moan Harold couldn't stop in time took them both by surprise.

                John froze, but visibly willed himself to relax again, continued in conversation with Andrew, but he never lowered his head again. Harold was unbelievably grateful. The rest of the night was a blur. Harold was sure they talked with a lot of people, John always by his side, but he couldn't think straight. His mind was stuck on the moment he felt John's lips on the back of his neck, on his own reaction. Halted breath. Shiver down his spine. Weak knees. Butterflies in his stomach. The traitorous moan. And the worst thing of them all, the feeling of rightness.

***

                They were both silent the entire car ride to Harold's apartment. What did he have to do?  Apologized for his body's reaction? He couldn't predict their situation, he didn't know John will have that effect on him. Part of him hoped John will forget and they will never mention _the incident_ again. But of course no such luck.

                "I'm sorry, Harold."

                John waited, until they were both safely in Harold's apartment. Harold had to establish the boundaries for them again, but he didn't know how.

                "For what, Mr. Reese? Saving the situation again? Keeping me calm the entire night? Being right?" He would never pointed to the elephant in the room, _the incident_.

                "For that."

                Before Harold had time to react, John was already in his space and gently caressed his neck. The whimper really wasn't Harold's intention, but he couldn't stop it, even if he tried. It had the same effect.

                "Sorry again. I just... I understand it ... I..."

                Stammering John Reese, Harold was in shock. First time for everything.

                "Finch... I don't want us to stop talking or not addressing it. It's your reaction to human touch on your neck. Maybe the first touch that has nothing to do with pain. You don't have to feel... like I will take advantage of that. I just wanted you to know that."

                Harold could only stare.

                "I will take Bear for a walk."

                Harold waited on a same spot, until John left. It was the moment he finally made a beeline for his bedroom. He sat heavily on the bed and raised his palms. They were both shaking.

                There were moments Harold would swear he saw desire and want in John's irises. Yet they were gone in a blink of an eye, like a switch inside of him. John was good in pretending. Harold  couldn't help himself, but in these moments he sometimes saw John like a predator. As a trained CIA agent capable of pretending human emotions, John was good. Sometimes too good and Harold could never guess if they were real or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. :)


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19 - John's POV**

John was cleaning his weapon. His vacation time started two days ago after the office party. The air between him and Harold cleared a bit after their conversation, but John still felt like anything   could upset the balance.

                The Machine had worse news. In a few days they were suppose to meet Shaw and Root on their secret weekend vacation. John couldn't wait. He was still cautious to have Root near Harold, but the older man was barely containing his radiating happiness. Harold missed them. He didn't say a word, but John knew. And the idea of Harold's happiness was doing wonders for his own heart and good nature.

                Today was the day of their last lunch date with Andrew. From now on Harold will be on his official vacation. The future looked good, except for one tiny detail. Phone calls with a heartbeat. For the fifth time. This was beyond some childish prank. They were both convinced the calls were from the Machine. She's trying to warn them.

                John even told Harold point blank he should go to the doctors, which he reluctantly obeyed. After several appointments and tests, Harold was declared healthy. Then it was John's turn. Nothing. He was in no danger of a heart attack or any heart problems.

                The only thing making sense of the warnings were to protect Harold's heart. Hence the solution of bulletproof vest.

                John was wearing it for the road and bringing it to Harold's place. Weapons finally ready, he couldn't wait. John was in the middle of packing his cleaning supplies, when his phone rang.

                "Hello, Henry."

                "Heartbeat again." Harold didn't beat around the bushes.

                "Others are alright?"

                "Yes. I suggested an appointment with his physician to Andrew. Nothing out of ordinary. If she's trying to warn us, it has to be about someone else."

                "Alright. We will figure it out. Don't worry. I'm almost done. I'll be waiting for you in front of the building."

                "Thank you. See you soon."

                In less than forty minutes, John's plans changed. He received a text message, an address of Harold's office building. John sprinted all the way there, with the traffic he couldn't be there in time. He watched carefully, but nothing was raising his suspicious. He knew Harold was going with Andrew. Even Harold didn't look concerned. Just like any other day...

                He could hear his phone's microphone alive with static. Something wasn't right. He slowly made his way to Harold, watching crowds around them.

                "ASSETT JOHN REESE, ADMIN IN IMMEDIATE DANGER!"

                John sprinted forward. He didn't give a damn about how many people he had to shove from his way. The distant prerecorded voice from his phone repeated the same message over and over again.

                The van rolled from the corner of the building, John was sure this was it. The doors opened and several people wearing masks were preparing semi automatic guns. Greer's men. Decima's people. How the hell they found them? 

                John watched Harold's face contorted in horror, he raised his weapons and still running, started to fire. People were screaming, running, panicking. Thank to the distraction, he had enough time to shield Harold in the chaos.

                "John!"

                They were out of time. Several bullets later, he felt Harold's hands on his body trying to keep him upward. That was good, it meant they couldn't shoot at him. "Harold-" Oh. He shouldn't have talk. It hurt like a son of a bitch.

                "John..."

                With another shot to his chest, John's knees started to weakened. He expected impact on the pavement. Something. Anything. Not two sets of guns beside him on both sides, not somebody's hands grabbing for him, keeping him walking. John almost lost consciousness when he was laid on the hard floor of a vehicle. Harold's voice kept him awake. After the chaos, all of a sudden everything was silent, especially Harold. "Har-"

                "John, focus! Look at me! He's fine." 

                _Shaw?_ What was she doing here? "John. Listen to me. He's with Lionel. He's fine. You have to stop moving!"

                Did he struggled? Maybe he did. He wanted to go after Harold. John's body sagged, when he finally registered her words.

                "You're with me now? You're bleeding somewhere. I have to look for an entry wound."

                Shoulder, or somewhere in that direction. He would told her, if he could breathe. She started to unbutton his coat and the fire from his ribs was almost unbearable.

                "Son of a bitch!"

                And he was out like a light. His consciousness finally gave up, because he could count on Shaw. Oblivion was so welcomed. Flare of pain woke him up a second later.

                "You're with me?"

                "Hm." Unfortunately John was still alive. He tried shallow breathing. Much better. So the bullets broke his ribs. It will be a month in pain with every inhale. He couldn't wait.

                "We have to move you. It won't be sunshine and roses."

                "Harold?" he finally had enough strength to breathe his name. That man was their priority.

                "He's on his way with Lionel. He's safe."

                "Ok."

                "You have a nice hole in your shoulder and cracked ribs. I need to strip you and check the  internal organs. You're one crazy son of a bitch. He will skin you alive once he gets here."

                John smiled. To tell the truth he couldn't wait to ruffle some of Harold's feathers, but at the same time, Harold was no doubt terrified. He could almost hear his lectures about safety. Maybe he deserved a hug for his trouble... No. With his ribs? Not chance in hell.

                "Someone thank the Machine for me," she was the one responsible for their safety.

                "Already taken care of that."

                Root in the driver's seat. The day wasn't suddenly so bright anymore. It meant keeping a closer eye on Harold and stick by his side. He wouldn't left him unprotected with her under one roof. But Root has a skills they could use. "Ask her about heartbeat next time. It stopped being funny three phone calls away. Did she saw this? Is it over?"

                "Is he delirious?"

                John could hear concern in Root's voice. Who would have guessed? Maybe she cared.

                "No," Shaw looked at them both.

                His body tensed from the sharp pain of a syringe. "Hey! It hurts!"

                "Don't be a baby. We're here. You want to walk from here to the building? It won't hurt now, so shut the hell up and be grateful!"

                Unfortunately she was right. John couldn't pick himself up from the floor alone. It would be better if he was unconscious. He really missed Shaw's grumpiness and sarcasm. They didn't see each other so long...

                "I'm glad you're here."

                "Yeah. Don't strain something with this touchy feely crap."

                John felt dizzy. It meant the drugs started to take effect. "Take.. care of him. He's terrified." Did he really slurred the last word? Apparently yes.

                "Go to sleep. He will be fine."

                "Don't let... Root... with him... al...one."

                "Shut the hell up and go to sleep. I won't let him out of my sight."

                That was fine with him. The last thing he registered was ringing of the phone and Shaw's barely contain anger. "What? You have to be kidding me? You had one job, Lionel, and you can't do it right? Oh. Yeah? Well, come here... You will be the one telling him this... Root! Help me carry him. We have a problem."

                John tried to ask what the problem was, but everything around him blacked again. He was sure it had something to do with Harold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading :)


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20 - Harold's POV**

Harold watched the road in front of them. He held his fingers clenched together. They were sticky from John's blood. Thankfully no one in the car talked. He was afraid he will break down if someone ask him any questions. It was his fault, and John was now dying.

                The lump in his throat threatened to suffocate him. How many times he had to listen to John being hurt? How many times he heard him grunt in pain? He was the one John was shielding from the bullets.

                "H?"

                Harold couldn't talk. He wasn't capable of anything. Especially not thinking clearly. He didn't stand a chance to have a normal conversation, let alone be asked about his wellbeing. Can't they leave him alone? Could he disappear without them knowing? What will he do without John? He could feel detective's eyes on him.

                "Glasses?"

                "You're the detective. The one who talked to Henry in front of our office? He pretended not to  know you."

                The good detective didn't answer Andrew. "Glasses, he will pull through. I don't know why the two crazy birds contacted me or what is it you're involved now, but he won't let you face them alone. You can't get rid of him that easily. Least of all by a few bullets."

                Harold tried to regulate his breathing, but it was pointless. The tears wanted to escape. He needed to be disconnected, but it wasn't in his capability. Not when he still felt John's blood on his hands. Blood that was not suppose to be there. Their situation scared him. He swore not to feel this much for anyone ever again and here he was, the absolute wreck on the verge of breaking down.

                "If something happened, they would have call us."

                No matter how much detective Fusco reassured him, it was- Just as he finished the sentence, Harold's phone pinged with a new text message. Harold frightfully looked at the screen.          

                _STOP_

                "Stop, immediately!" he called in alarm. Surprisingly, Harold was capable of thinking under pressure.

                Detective obeyed. "What? What's happening?"

                This was Harold's area. If something was about to happen, he needed to go dark. The Machine knew. Nothing woke Harold from stupor better then the threat to the people around him.

                "Get your son out of the city, detective. Throw away this phone, say you lost it in the crowd or it was stolen from you. When someone  asks, you helped an old crippled man with a friend and you left them here. That's all. You don't know us. You just wanted to help a cripple. You have to repeat that all the time."

                "Ok. I'm with you. What are you going to do?"

                "Don't worry, I'm not making you a collateral damage for us." If Harold's calculations were right. "Andrew, we have to go. Now!"

                Harold couldn't hesitate and put more people at risk. He painfully got out of the car. For a moment, Harold hesitated. He couldn't help himself and had to lean inside one last time. "Detective, if you could... tell-" _What? If you see him alive, tell him I love him? I don't want to live my life without him? Pathetic._

Harold sighed.

                "Tell him, if you see him... Tell him I didn't want to go without him." With a firm nod, Harold  closed the door and watched the display rearranged into the address. It was the last thing, he could do to keep Andrew and detective Fusco alive. He threw away his phone into the traffic, the answering crunch of the plastic their his cue to go. They were alone.

                "Do you have a phone on yourself, Andrew?"

                "No. I left it in the office."

                "I hope you're not lying. It would have a devastating consequences for both of us."

                "I don't have one on me," Andrew repeated sincerely.

                "Alright. This way," Harold pointed to the left. He looked above them. They were standing under the camera. He was sure the Machine chose this place carefully. They had to stay out of sight. From this moment on, Harold didn't have any way to find out about John. He couldn't contact the Machine. He couldn't do anything. Only to hope for the best.

                "Who are you?" Andrew whispered carefully.

                Harold watched him from the corner of his eyes. "Trust me, you don't want to know the answer to your question. It would be more dangerous for your life."

                "Do we need to go to the police?"

                "I wish it could be that easy, Andrew."

                Nothing in Harold's life was easy. He could start his memoires with _Once upon a time my life was full of easy decisions..._ Harold finally spotted a place they will be staying at, an abandoned closed building, waiting to be leveled with the ground. Not very promising accommodations, but it will have to do.

***

                Harold recklessly paced from one corner to the other. They spent long hours here suspended in the agony. There wasn't anything else to call his feelings. He thought watching Grace figured out his death was painful and heartbreaking, but it was merely the prelude of this catastrophe. It was his own fault. Harold should run from the office the first chance he got when he received a warning from the Machine early in the afternoon.

                But in that moment, he decided against it. He knew the Machine wanted him to abandon the building, but he wasn't quick enough. He was satisfied with the consequences he chose, if his own death meant leaving John and the rest of their team alone. He was prepared to sacrificed himself without a second thought.

                But he underestimated his Machine. When he couldn't be faster, she called John and the others for help. Big mistake on Harold's part. Now he could only pray for John's life.

                The twinges of pain annoyed him, Harold was aware of his hip. It was screaming in agony just as much as his heart. At the moment Harold's heart was crushed in his chest, because John Reese stood  before him not long time ago, sagging in his arms with bullet impacts.

                "H?"

                Harold flinched from the palm on his shoulder, in a second his composure was back. He slightly lifted his head and tried to look at least calm. "Yes?"

                "We could find a phone somewhere. Ask a random people on a street for a phone call. No one would know. I know it looks bad, but..."

                "They threw away the phones. That's the first rule. It's dangerous to keep them."

                "Ok. So... Hospitals. He needs surgery. We could go to hospitals, find out if they admitted  someone without ID?"

                Harold's lips tightened. Andrew didn't know the full range of Samaritan's feeds. He couldn't even imagine what was happening, what was at stakes.

                "They wouldn't go to the hospital with him," Andrew figured out from his silence.

                "It would be a suicide. They will be killed on a spot. Not only John, but-" Mistake. Another one. Thank God the Machine or Samaritan didn't have an access to their hide out. He should never spoke John's name out loud.

                "John? Oh, Jack... Henry isn't your real name. Figured."

                Harold heavily sank into the old, dirty couch by the wall. Everything was falling apart around him. He had to find the way to contact the others. He had to know about John. He had to do a lot of things and a conversation with the Machine was one of them, but his thoughts didn't cooperate. He was scared. Petrified. What if John was no longer-    

                Harold's heart clenched with the train of thoughts. No. John was going to be ok. He must be! John was always there for Harold. John was... his cornerstone, his sanctuary, his safety haven. He... has had an unknown amount of bullets in his upper body. Upper body with essential internal organs. The panic began again.

                "Your name is Harold?"

                "Yes." Andrew knew this only by one reason only. They both heard John whispered his name before Miss Shaw and Miss Groves took him into the van. John wanted to know if Harold was alright. Loyal to the end. _It is not the end!_ John was shot before. Multiple times. Harold had always patched him up. John was now in the hands of Miss Shaw, a very capable doctor. She wasn't only an excellent CIA agent and trained killer, her medical experience were superb. She was certainly capable of keeping John alive.

                Harold had confidence in her experience, but the little things were nagging him. Little things like surgical equipment. They didn't have any. Or anesthesia. Again, they didn't have any. Or safe place to rest and operate on John.

                "Can I call you Harold?"

                "It will be safer not to."

                "Ok. It... makes sense. He never called you Henry, not often. I get it now. It had to be hard for both of you, always keeping low profile."

                Hard? Not so much. Now was not the time to reminiscent the past. What was their cover? Hard? No. He wouldn't say that. They had some hurdles on a way. The two almost kisses, but overall Harold was comfortable with John near him, with the knowledge he could have depended on John every minute of every day. He was always safe with him.

                And now was John dying... without Harold by his side. He cut off a whimpering sound before it escaped his throat. When they met, Harold didn't have illusions. What was it he said to John? 

                _Sooner or later both of us will probably end up dead. Actually dead this time._

                He was so naive. Harold thought they will stay employee and employer all the time. They will never change their relationship. They will always stay reserved with each other, both of them guarding their hearts and souls so no one could mean anything. Pathetic and naive concept.

                Harold sure as hell wanted to go for the nearest payphone just to had a chance to ask his Machine if John was still... _Oh!_ "Andrew, I'm going out. I will be back shortly."

                "Where are you going?"

                "We need a phone."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and for every comment. :)


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21 - John's POV**

John didn't hear much. His shoulder screamed in pain, but the annoying thing was the whispering near him. One thing he remembered clearly, something has happened. "What is it?"

                Complete silence. John tried to look behind the Holy Trinity standing in a doorway. Fusco, Root and Shaw were all watching him. "What is it?" After some clever maneuvering, he was able to sit by himself. "Finch?"

                "Ehm," Lionel did a few steps to him, when Shaw pushed his back. Not much closer, only to became a center of John's attention. "He's fine."

                "Alright." Good to know. "Is he... furious?" John could very well imagine the long speech about his safety and stupid decisions. The scariest part was letting Harold be somewhere alone, somewhere near Decima's people, somewhere near Greer. They would kill him this time. They didn't need him anymore. Samaritan was already online. Nobody could stop them.

                "Listen... I was driving them away when he got a text."

                Of course. The Machine. It was looking after Harold. John was never more grateful to her. "Ok."

                "I don't know why. But he wanted me to stop in the middle of the road, dumped my phone and be gone. They went off."

                John was waiting. What else? They went where? The Machine surely has a plan for them. This was like a painful surgery with a dull knife. "And then what?" he growled impatiently.

                "Nothing."

                John was still waiting anxiously, thinking he had to be joking, but there was only silence. Their faces had the calm and collected unreadable masks. "Nothing," he repeated flatly.

                "Hm."

                "You left him? Where is he now? Did he make contact with anyone? Or Andrew! Call Andrew and find out where they are. We have to go for them."

                "Both numbers are disconnected," Shaw whispered. "GPS locators don't work."

                "And She's not telling me. I asked. Repeatedly. She's revealing their position," Root seconded.

                "Phone!" Walking with that shoulder and ribs wasn't pretty or even remotely comfortable. John could survive. He could survive anything. He could black out after he got Harold to safety, not a second sooner.

                "John, we don't have any. She wanted all of them destroyed. I'm sure She made Harold and Andrew to do the same. They have much better chance if-"

                No t a good thing for Root to say. "Well, tell Her I have to protect him!" John was forgetting about Andrew. One civilian and one hunted man in the middle of government agents without any chance to escape. They have to find Harold right this minute! "Phone. Anything with connection to her! Now!"

                "It's too dangerous. She won't talk to you. It's-"

                "I don't care," John stopped Root's sentence. "We have a deal. She will tell me where he is or I'm quitting. We were in this situation once, I'm not here to play games with you and government agents. I'm here to protect Harold. That's my job."

***

                John was stiffly walking to the nearest payphone, Root and Shaw with him, both of them  watching the surroundings for danger. He didn't give a crap, he was angry enough to function on his anger issues alone.

                He could picture Harold very clearly. Somewhere God knows where, without any friends, without any word about his condition, without Machine's instructions. To top it all with Andrew. Someone, Harold had to protect at all cost, because if something happened to Andrew, it would be Harold's fault and he would have to live with that.

                The phone was thankfully ringing the second he was in his proximity. Thank God for small miracles.

                "Where is he? It's my job to protect him." John was already writing Machine's voice to a small notebook.

                "Mike... India... November... Echo... Tango... Oscar... Oscar." God, they were back with this. Why the hell She couldn't talk now? Maybe it was too dangerous.

                **_M_** _IKE_

_**I** NDIA_

_**N** OVEMBER_

_**E** CHO_

_**T** ANGO_

_**O** SCAR_

_**O** SCAR_

                It meant... M.I.N.E.T.O.O. 

                "Where is he? Is he alright? You know I will search for him. I'm not gonna play games with government. You could enlist Shaw and Root for this. My priority is the man you are hiding. You don't want to do this. He's somewhere without protection. If something happens to him, we're done. You know I have to be with him. "

                "Tango... Whiskey... Oscar... Delta... Alpha... Yankee... Sierra."

                **T** ANGO

            **W** HISKEY

            **O** SCAR

            **D** ELTA

            **A** LPHA

            **Y** ANKEE

             **S** IERRA

                T.W.O.D.A.Y.S. John could survive two days without him. Definitely. He lived six months without Harold and Bear before they were reunited. But the idea of counting on Machine's protection was absolutely unnerving. What if Greer's men find them? What will Harold do without John?  What if-

                John turn his back to his company and was looking directly into the camera on a street. "Make sure he knows I'm alive. It's important. The first thing you have to tell him. I know you don't understand why, but he has to know."

                "Alpha... Foxtrot... Foxtrot... India... Romeo... Mike... Alpha... Tango... India... Victor... Echo."

                A.F.F.I.R.M.A.T.I.V.E. At least that was something. When John hung up, it wasn't with a good feeling. Root was watching him like a newly escaped plague. Maybe she didn't like the idea of Harold's Machine talking to him, instead of her. Sucks to be her then!

                "What did She say? She's keeping secrets from me. I can be trusted. Did I do something wrong?"

                "No. We have to wait. She's keeping them somewhere holed up. It's safer that way." At least he hoped so. If not, he will find where the Machine transported itself and he will take her apart piece by piece. John was a confident man, he knew he could do that. "For some reason She didn't want them with Lionel. Maybe they would be a threat for him or his son's life."

                "How long we wait?"

                Shaw wasn't very patient woman. John could only agree, but he didn't want to gave up the information either. "I don't know. She will contact us." He found the lighter in his pocket, ripped pages from the notebook and set them on fire. No one would know anything. Just like the Machine wanted. It was only John's secret now. He hoped two days will pass very quickly.

***

                Three hours later John knew exactly why the Machine hid Harold separately from them. They have to shoot their way out of another situation. Thankfully with only a few scratches on their part. Shaw was stitching Root's shoulder with barely restrained anger and Root was trying to annoy them to death by her statistics and inside information she shared with the oh-so-clever Machine. 

                But not even this encounter was satisfying for the Machine. She still didn't reveal Harold's whereabouts. On one hand John was glad. If they have to face another bunch of government agents, he didn't want Harold with them. He wanted him somewhere safe and out of reach. On the other hand John started to feel a bit antsy. If the Machine knew about Harold's safe house, that information could very easily be Samaritans info too.

                John didn't understand how could She keep secrets from the government property, if they have the same data and images. That answer would be too much for his ordinary brain. He didn't like to trust the Machine. Not with Harold's life. His own? No problem. But Harold's was too important. Maybe She hid them from Herself as well. Maybe that was Her only option. If She didn't have them in Her sight, Samaritan couldn't know about them as well?

                John just wanted to sit for five minutes and catch a breath. He knew nothing could be done. He knew they will probably entertain the government in round two in a near future, possibly round three. John started to lowering himself on a couch in a furnished house. Out of nowhere, there were Lionel's hands on his sides helping him.

                "I have a message for you." Fusco looked the other way so Shaw and Root couldn't see his lips and read from them.

                From Harold. "How was he?"

                "Bad. He thought you're dying or already dead. It wasn't pretty watching him like this, but he wanted me to give you a message, in case I see you. He just wanted you to know he didn't want to go without you."

                John nodded. "Thanks."

                Of course he didn't want to go without John. John himself didn't like the idea of Harold being somewhere without his protection. He understood very well. They were like sitting ducks in the dark. No way of knowing if they would be under attack next second. The only protection would be the Machine, a computer God knows how miles away from their position.

                "You have to get to him, man. He was in shock almost the entire ride. We didn't get one word from him. He had to know you're alright."

                "Already done." Thankfully, the Machine will cooperate with John.

                "Good. Now we have to find him."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, I appreciate every comment. :)


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As of today, the story has 36 chapters and one teeny tiny Epilog. And that will be all. I promise. :D

**Chapter 22 - Harold's POV**

It didn't take long for Harold to have a phone in his palm. The plan was good. He purchased a burner phone from the shop, he went by the camera on the street, he started to write a message for Machine to know the number and then quickly went to their hide out.

                Now he anxiously waited for the Machine to call him. She was the only connection he needed to the world. The second the phone rang, Harold blurted: "Is he alive?"

                "Yankee... Echo... Sierra."

                He closed his eyes gratefully. His hope was back. "I need to know about his condition."

                "Alpha... Foxtrot... Foxtrot... India... Romeo... Mike... Alpha... Tango... India... Victor... Echo. Hotel... Echo... India... November... Sierra...India... Sierra... Tango... Echo... Delta."

                "He? John?" Harold was on his feet in a moment. "He what? Did he talk? After his surgery?"

                "Yankee... Echo... Sierra."

                Harold had to turned his back on Andrew. It really wasn't his aspiration to show his tears to every person he encountered today. The immeasurable relief was a strong emotion. John was alive. One question burned Harold's tongue. "Is he in mortal danger?"

                "November... Oscar."

                "No?" Several bullets in his upper body and he's alright? Thank God for small miracles. "Thank you. I know he insisted, but thank you no less. You told me about him. You didn't have to. You..." What was he doing? Babbling like an idiot without any IQ points. He had to be focused. He had to do something.

                "Papa... Romeo... Oscar... Mike... India... Sierra... Echo... Delta."

                "To whom? John?" 

                "Yankee... Echo... Sierra."

                John really had to be alright, if he could threaten his Machine and insisted She has to talk to Harold. John considered his feelings. John had to know Harold would be scared out of his mind for him or think John died without his company. "Well... What should we do? What is the plan?"

                "Whiskey... Alpha... India... Tango."

                It wasn't very sound plan. Harold didn't like it at all. So many questions- "Why? For what? How long?"

                "Tango... Whiskey... Oscar... Delta... Alpha... Yankee... Sierra."

                Two days in Harold's state of mind looked like a century, but there wasn't anything else to do. John was alright. At least for now. Maybe their situation will be resolved in their favor. "Alright. I will trust you. For now. If you could keep tabs on John, I would appreciated it." Before he could ask more, the Machine clicked him off.

                "He's alright?"

                "Yes. Yes, for now. He's alive and talking." Several bullets in John's upper body. Anything could go wrong. Anytime. Any minute, if he's not cooperating. There was always the possibility of complications. John wasn't very good with taking instructions and healing properly. Not if he have a lot on his mind.

                "What are we going to do?"

                "We have to stay here for two days," Harold replied distracted. John wouldn't stay still and heal. He would do everything in his power to get Harold back. And he will endanger himself.

                "And then what?"

                _I don't know._ That was the scariest part. Harold didn't have a clue. "We will survive. Don't worry, Andrew." He hoped so. He was putting his life in the hands of his Machine. Again. She had always protected him.

                Harold finally collapsed on the old dirty couch with relief. John was alright. _For now..._ Harold flinched with a text message alert. His phone in a coat pocket weighted several tons. What if it was his Machine? What if it's about John's condition? What if John already had a complication? What if something went wrong?

                He closed his eyes. Few minutes delay won't change their situation. Harold needed to be calm, not hysterical.

                "Do you want me to look?"

                Andrew... his friend asked nicely. Harold couldn't help but felt a pang in his heart. Andrew became his friend. Andrew didn't know almost anything about the real Harold, but he was Harold's friend. Friend, who's in danger right now, thanks to him. If they survive, Harold needed to find a way to save Andrew and he will lose another friend.

                With a shortness of breath, Harold fished out a phone and gave it to Andrew's outstretched hand, desperately hoping his co-worker won't comment on the shaking fingers. The same fingers that held John and were covered with John's blood, when they first came in.

                The silence was unnerving. He couldn't stand it. "Is it about John?"

                "I don't... think so. I don't understand it."

                He dutifully took the thing. Harold ignored the flaring pain in his hip as he stretched out. He was fairly certain the Machine would text him about John's condition. She used simple texts all the time. If it was a code, it was important. He looked at a display. _Oh, thank God._

                "GPS coordination." Why would She send them? It was only one way to find out. "I need to go out again."

                "I'm coming with you."

                Harold couldn't say no. "Alright." Thankfully it started raining. It would mean if they buy an umbrella, it will hide their faces from the cameras on the way.

***

                Harold couldn't help himself. He was sharing an umbrella with Andrew, but he could only think about moments with John. With his co-worker, Harold had a distinct feeling of someone breaching his personal space. It was never an issue with John. He was always comfortable with John. He never thought about John's way of always ended up in his personal bubble.

                They have a lot of space around them, but John stayed within hair's-breadth of Harold's body every single time. On the streets. In his apartment. On a grocery shopping trips. On Bear's walks. Maybe John didn't think about it like that or didn't register this detail as well.

                Harold stopped on the exact spot of the coordination in the middle of nowhere. No buildings. Only abandoned parking lot spot. Hardly any cover. Hardly any people around. He looked above himself uncomprehendingly. Why did the Machine wanted them in this spot? Was it his Machine or Samaritan? What if it's a trap? Another text answered him.

                _GO BACK_

                "Why?" Harold stayed still. "What are we doing here?"

                When he looked on his display, there was a photo of him and Andrew. Harold was watching himself, how tired he seemed. Deep circles under his eyes. Worried frown on his face. Sagged shoulders. It wasn't a pretty picture, but it was a proof. The Machine wanted to show John he was alive.

                "We should go back," Harold decided.

                "And what are we doing here?"

                The safest option was lying. "They wanted to pick us up. But something went wrong. We have to go back."

                "Ok." Thankfully, Andrew didn't question him.

***

Harold was on his knees with relief the second he heard the barking. "Bear!" The canine sprinted to him and started licking his face enthusiastically. Finally something familiar. They could go home. He could see John.

                "Good to see you alive, Harold."

                His neck gave a painful twitch when Harold looked up in surprise. "Miss Shaw?" Why did he expect John instead of her? John was injured.

                Without a word she helped him on his feet. "We don't have much time. We have to go."

                "Agreed. John?"

                "He will live. I stitched him up." She was watching their surroundings and at the same time, held a firm grip on his forearm. Andrew quickly followed.

                Stitched him up? How could she only stitched him up? It wasn't only one bullet. There has to be some miscommunication. "He was-"

                "Bleeding, yeah. He's got a nice bullet wound in his shoulder. Nothing serious. The vest took care of the rest. By my experience two or three broken ribs. Don't know exactly how much. He doesn't like me touching him. He will be fine."

                She led them to some non-descriptive car and then they were speeding away.

                "So he's alright?" Andrew repeated slightly dumbfounded. "He's not dead or in any danger? How could that be possible? I was there. He was-"

                "You have a hearing problem?" she watched him carefully in the mirror. This time, she raised her voice, probably thinking Andrew was partially deaf. "I will check you later. As I was saying already, the vest took the rest of the bullets. They cracked his ribs and he's really colorful guy right now, but it's just temporary."

                Harold was glad he was already sitting down. Bulletproof vest. John wore it on himself. Of course he did, the detail slipped out of Harold's memory. John was suppose to bring him a bulletproof vest. The Machine warned them about heartbeat. She wanted them to wear the vest in the right moment.

                And John did. The wave of relief was unimaginable. The vest. The reason the Machine told him John was out of mortal danger. He never was in any danger. He had broken ribs and he was shot in the shoulder. John was really alright.

                The moment Harold's body relaxed, he felt bone tired. Like he grew older by hundred years in two days he didn't see John Reese.

                Miss Shaw looked at his profile. "You alright?"

                "Never better," Harold whispered absentmindedly and closed his eyes, only to forcefully opened them again. Behind his eyelids, Harold could see the determination in John's expression, when he was running to him, standing before him and sagging against him with bullet impacts.

                Probably the worst memory Harold ever had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading. Thank you all for your comments. :)


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23 - John's POV**

John was tired and cranky. They had to move into another house surrounded by woods. He wanted to see Harold and Root was straining his nerves. In that moment he wanted to kill her more than anything. Not exactly in the next second, he felt like a weak duckling, but first thing when his ribs stop hurting, she will be hearing from him. He was on his way to greet Harold and she just breezed around him and enveloped the older man in his arms.

                "Harry. Good to see you. I was worried. She didn't talk to me. I didn't know where you are."

                How did she do this? She was shot in the shoulder, not in the same spot as him, but shot no less. How come she could raise her arms around Harold? John himself couldn't breathe without the pain suffocating him and she was doing this acrobatics without being affected. Damn the sociopaths and their pain thresholds. 

"Miss Groves." 

                John glanced Harold's pain at first. He didn't have his medication and he spent two days frightened. John knew him. When Harold was agitated, he walked and couldn't sit still.

                "Harold?" John couldn't resist and he has to drew his attention. It was only a second. He watched how Harold carefully gave him a subtle once over to assure himself he was alright. Then he simply withdrawn any emotion from his face and mumbled: "Excuse me."

                John saw him limping away. "Harold-"

                Before he could chase after him, Andrew stood in his way. "Leave him alone. You weren't there. You didn't see what it did to him."

                "I was shot," John growled. If it was in his capability, he would be beside Harold. He would never leave Harold's side and probably would wait for him in front of the bathroom door, every damn time the man went there.

                "I know. Just give him a moment. He was terrified you're dead."

                "Well, me too. I would like to spent some time with him and reassure him and myself we are both alive, safe and alright." Andrew was getting on his nerves.

                "But you're not alright and he knows. She told him."

                Andrew pointed at Shaw, who looked in that moment like someone caught her in the act of stealing some cookies  from a cookie jar.

                "What? He has to know the truth. He could hug you or... something and your ribs would puncture the heart or lungs."

                "Harold?" John didn't know if he wanted to kill her as well or not. She was sometimes useful in action. She didn't talk much and she could also treat injuries. John appreciated the good qualities in women, but sometimes her mind was a mystery to him. Do they know a different man named Harold? She expected their Harold to show emotions and hug them all? "Hug?"

                "Fine, I overreacted. I was hungry and not thinking clearly."

                No, she didn't. Now was John's time to make it better. "Go eat something," he growled. He did as Andrew told him, waited long enough. He gave Harold two minutes. It had to be enough.

***

                John watched Harold standing by the banister on the front porch, still in his winter coat. At least he was dressed for the occasion. The house was the safest place the Machine found for them so far. Harold sagged to one side, probably to elevate a painful strain on his hip. John should have bring some painkillers. Not only for Harold, for himself as well. What to say as an opening?

                "I know you're angry, Harold. But you have to know this is my job. I will always stand between you and danger. No matter what the consequences for me will be. That's why-"

                Harold interrupted him. "I forgot about the vest. I thought you were dead. Or dying... in the van. I saw them kill so many people. I dug a grave for Mr. Dillinger with my own broken body, I watched the Numbers die, my friend died. I was standing there watching Grace mourning me."

                John knew this wasn't their usual argument.

                "Every time I heard someone shot at you, kicked you, hurt you... you always do a very good job of leaving me feel completely helpless. In that twisted brain of yours, you don't want to be helped, rescued or taken care of. You don't feel like you deserve that."

                John's throat constricted. He wanted to say something, but couldn't figured out what.

                "You always wear a new crisp white shirt to not let me see the bandages. You buy the shirts yourself by cash, so I would not see the receipts. You hide from me how many times you are injured. You always talk in the calm and hushed voice to me, so I never hear a strain from the pain. And yet I know every single time. I had your breath in my ear every day for three years, John. I don't need to hear your voice, I hear your breathing."

                This really wasn't how the conversation should go. John didn't imagine exactly how, but this definitely wasn't it. His heart was beating miles for minute and his whole body hurt thanks to Harold's words.

                Harold's phone was ringing, but they were both ignoring it.

                Harold turned around with some difficulties and looked at him. "It's killing me every single time, because it's my fault. It was me who hired you. It was me who gave you this job. I don't know how many times we have to have this conversation, because you are not listening to me. You are not my bodyguard. I didn't hire you for my personal safety. Next time... I'm begging you, just let me die, John. I don't want to go through this again."

                John heard the echo of his heart in his ears. He couldn't speak. He was helplessly watching Harold putting down the phone on the banister and walking inside. John finally grab the ringing thing and the first moment he rose the phone to his ear, John finally put two and two together. It was his heartbeat Harold was listening to. Why did the Machine-

                John closed the phone. On a display, there was a text message he didn't see before.

                _Listen to his heart._

                "Are you kidding me? What the hell are you doing? What are you trying to say? Listen to his heart? That should be your idea of a joke?"  

                "It's Her way of telling Harold you love him."

                John closed his eyes and hoped Root wasn't there. He hoped to God, he would kill her otherwise. Even if that act made his ribs accidentally puncture his lungs. He didn't care. He just wanted her to shut up.

                "We all should sit in one room and talk more. It could be really interesting. Mine and Shaw's anger issues. You're in love with Harold. He's desperately trying to not feel the same feelings for you. In the middle of this innocent Andrew, who has no idea what he's dealing with. They will kill him if we don't do something."

                "It was him?"

                "Unfortunately no. Just one of Harold's female co-workers. It all bores down on you and your irresistible good looks. She wanted to find out your address, contact you alone without him being near. She was quite smitten with you and had a friend in police force. He scanned your picture. One of the Decima men saw it and Samaritan took action. The Machine... She's grateful for saving his life. That's why She finally wanted Harold to know the truth. Her way of saying he deserves to be happy."

                "Tell Her to stop, Root. He's stressed enough. When I tell him the truth about the phone calls, he will panic. I don't want another set of tests and doctors in my future."

                "So tell him the truth. It's easy."

                John really hated her in that moment. "You may have a selection amnesia, but I remember very well his love for Grace. It's not that long time ago."

                "You're forgetting something. She's practically his daughter. She knows him better then all of us together. She's trying to reach him. Tell him you love him."

                "Root, no offense, but I'm not gonna talk about this. Not with you."

                "She will tell him Herself, if you're such a chicken shit," she gave him a smug smile and went away.

***

                John left Harold alone a whole hour. Then he impatiently rapped a few times on the door and stepped inside. "Sorry to bother you, Harold, but we haven't finished our conversation."

                "This is not a good time, John." Harold was sprawled on the bed, leg bend to his right side and from his strained voice and labored breathing, he was doing some exercises. Probably to elevate the pain. 

                "Did you took your medication?" John asked.

                "No, Mr. Reese. Do you have any for me?" he asked irritatingly.

                John doesn't. They were all in Harold's apartment. The apartment they couldn't set foot again. Their other option was doctor Tillman or Shaw. She has to give him something. "Shaw could..."

                "Thank you, but I don't want to inconvenience her. You will need them more than me."

                "I hope you're joking," John growled.

                "Cracked ribs and gunshot wound in your shoulder, John. They speak for themselves. I am very aware of the amount of pain you have to be in. I remember broken ribs. I really don't want to experience it ever again. You can have all the painkillers Miss Shaw currently owns. I will manage, don't worry."

                With some difficulties, Harold was able to straightened his leg and stilled on his back. "Harold-"

                "I think our conversation reached a natural end, Mr. Reese."

                "Oh, really." John strode purposefully near the bed, leaned down and caged him with one  arm. "And I think you are full of-" Crude words. That's not gonna work. "...crap." John knew only of one way how to make Harold listening and he used that.

                John wished the moment he looked at him, he could back out and never move again. Maybe that wasn't the best decision he made. His shoulder screamed and ribs weren't that great either. But the anger felt really good.

                "John?"

                "We're not done. I will repeat myself one last time. I won't let you die. End of conversation. Not because of some higher reason or because your computer daughter is demanding from me to save you. Just because I don't want to lose you. We are here to help Numbers. You and I. We are-" Now was the time to stop talking. The pressure on his ribs and shoulder was killing him. He started to hyperventilate from the pain. _Oh damn!_

                "John?"

                "I need help, Harold," he uttered.

                "Oh, God."

                John closed his eyes. He could stand the pain, he really could. They trained them for torture. He was grateful for Harold's hands on his sides, helping him lay down. In a minute he heard him open the door and yell.

                 "Miss Shaw!"

                And then everything went black again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. :)


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24 - Harold's POV**

                Harold was standing still at the main room of the house, waiting. The only way someone could guess his anxiety would be whining dog at his feet. Animals were always better judges of a character and mood. Harold tried to ignore Andrew. There were times Andrew stared at him unabashed, like he was searching for something, but he knew better than to ask. The questions never came. Someone else was the one who pierced the silence.

                "What did he do? Couldn't you keep an eye on him, Glasses?"

                Detective Fusco was sweating around his hairline when he rushed into the room. Maybe Harold should have been more specific. He didn't want to worry them all. First he yelled for Miss Shaw and then he panicked and called to their good detective. In his defense, Harold didn't tell him the situation exactly, he only mentioned Miss Shaw was operating on John again.

                "I assure you, detective, my eyes didn't stray from him. We were just talking and I personally recommended him to take some painkillers. I don't know what he tried to proof with that silly idea of his."

                "Yeah. Sorry. I know. He's just trouble. It's not your fault."

                "Miss Shaw," Harold finally took a step forward, when he spotted her in the doorway.

                "Ripped open his stitches, I bandaged the ribs. What the hell did he think? I told him not to do anything strenuous. I hate to repeat myself."

                "Oh, you know him," Harold really didn't want to tell them the circumstances. "He doesn't like taking orders or suggestions."

                "From everyone except you. So you tell him, Harold. He's not invincible. I don't want to treat him every day. I'm not his doctor. I'm here to kill people, not making them better."

                "I will certainly stress your point," Harold nodded.

                "And keep him in bed."

                "Miss Shaw, do I have to remind you it's my room he's now occupying? I would like him to move somewhere else. Preferably to another bed."

                "He's not moving. Not today. Not tomorrow. I operated on him twice. I'm not doing it again. You will stitch him up next time. You're good at it from what I saw."

                "And where do you suggest I sleep?" Sometimes she really stretched his patience.

                "In his room. On the floor. On the roof. In a freaking hammock in the woods. Whatever you prefer. I don't care. Not my business." 

                Harold pointedly stared at her. He didn't have to talk. He hoped she understood he was out of options. Harold couldn't sleep anywhere else. The Machine specifically chose their house for the  mattress the owners used in the main bedroom.

                "Are you talking about me?"

                Harold turned around sharply. John. In a doorway. That man was impossible!

                "Oh for God's sake! You're like a rash. Always there, impossible to get rid of," Miss Shaw hissed angrily.

                She really had a point. How could John even stand there slumped against the doorframe, almost without the strength to be on his feet and in unimaginable amount of pain. What was so wrong with him he couldn't stay in bed for five minutes? Harold had enough of this behavior and Miss Shaw made her point clear.

                "Shaw, kind of you to think of me like-"

                "Mr. Reese!" Harold used the cold, frosty tone he almost forgot from their beginnings.

                "Yeah, Finch?" John mumbled unsteadily.

                "You are right," Harold stared at him resolutely. "My apology. We shouldn't discuss your predicament without your presence. I was now saying to Miss Shaw, as your employer, I decided you are now on a sick leave. You can stay here on premises, or you can go wherever your heart desires. But, please, come back one week from now, so Miss Shaw can examine you again and determinate if you are fit for your duty."

                "Harold?"

                "You said it yourself perfectly clearly. My safety is your priority. Now, as you are out of commission, your duties belongs to Miss Shaw." Harold ignored a protest from her.

                Detective Fusco was slowly backing out of the room. "That's our cue to leave. This is not going to be pretty."

                "Wait, so you are not really together?" Andrew watched them alternately. "I thought you two are a couple."

                "Lionel is right," Shaw mumbled.

                "Harold," John couldn't hide the furious tone from him, no matter how much he whispered.

                "Or, you want to endanger my safety, Mr. Reese?" Harold didn't back one inch from his stare. This was not something he could afford. He knew it was terrible thing to do to John. Harold couldn't say worse thing.

                 The answer to him was only silence. "Are you going to use our accommodations or do you want detective Fusco to drive you somewhere?"

                "Me? What? Why me?" Lionel spluttered. "Don't drag me into this. I'm out of this room. I'm not even listening."

                "Mr. Reese, have you reached your decision?" Harold shouldn't press the issue, but he needed to. The moment John took one step, Harold still didn't break their eye connection. "Please, do, try to go near me. I'm sure Miss Shaw wants to finally get her revenge for all the troubles she has to endure in saving your life and operate on you for the third time."

                John stopped like a confused, hurt animal. His face was almost white.

                "So they are not together?"

                Harold ignored Andrew's whispering. He was focused only on John's face. In the middle of the room, he didn't have anything to help him stay upright, the pallor of his skin was alarming.

                "Oh God." Harold took two steps and was there in time to support John's frame before he fell to the floor, hands tightly wound around his waist. His voice softened with concern. "For Heaven's sake, you need to lay down, John. I'm not leaving your side. I'm not going to be anywhere near Miss Groves. Just, please, let your body heal."

                John was panting heavily near his ear, sweating profusely and trying to speak through the pain. "Alright."

                "Good," Harold nodded. "Miss Shaw, little help?"

                "You're doing just fine," she replied, uninterestingly checking her nails.

                It was humiliating how much Harold sometimes didn't want to reveal his weaknesses to other people. Time and time again he felt like not being good enough. "He will fall down, Miss Shaw. I can't hold him much longer with my back."

                In a moment detective Fusco and Andrew were taking John from him and assisting him in a slow shuffle to the nearest bedroom. Harold went with them. He had to be sure they didn't jostle his ribs too much.

                "Harold?"

                He heard John whispering his name. "I'm right here, John, not leaving and Miss Groves is  nowhere in sight," Harold assured.

                "So you are together?"

                "Andrew, please, this is hardly the time." Harold couldn't understand why is their relationship so important. It was the same with their Numbers. They all assumed. Why is it that human nature needs to define everything into labels and relationship statuses?

                Harold watched them sat John on the bed and elevated his feet on the comforter, John's face  was tight with pain, he protectively held his ribs like his inner organs would drop to the floor if he didn't. Harold was in agony with him.

                "You have to rest. You have to heal, or I will personally take care of that. You don't want me as your nurse, Mr. Reese. I'm very demanding and occasionally grumpy."

                "Fine, I will sleep."

                "Very good decision," he smiled tightly. Harold hoped he will keep his word. It was obvious when John finally allowed his body to relax, the pain lessened, his face stopped being strained.

                "Don't go anywhere."

                The whispered words hit Harold straight to the chest. "Don't worry, I won't give you another chance to sneak up on us. Once was enough."

                "Ok, so they are not together," Andrew mumbled.

                "Jesus, man, what the hell is wrong with you?"

                It was the first time Harold heard detective Fusco lost a composure. In another settings, Harold could be amused. Now he didn't want to hear them bickering about something so trivial and not important.

                "I assure you, Andrew. Our relationship status is the last of your worries. We have to get you out of the country. If we're not clever and efficient, you will end up dead with a frightening probability."

                "Because I thought you two are together?"

                Harold took a deep breath. It should have had a calming effect, not so much so far. He watched the detective going near and  whispered near his ear: "Did he suffer a blow to the head?"

                "I'm afraid not, detective."

                "So he's born stupid?"

                "It looks that way," Harold replied conspiratorially. "Although it could also be the amount of  stress. We have to remind ourselves he's not used to being chased like an animal."

                "Ok. I will take him out of here. With our luck he would wake up Wonderboy and that's the last thing we want."

                "Thank you, detective."

                Harold waited for them to leave, then he finally pulled a chair near John's bed and sat down with relief. He almost forgot how much his body was hurting. Bear sat near his feet in an instant, canine's head on Harold's knee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. :)


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going on vacation tomorrow, so I posted the rest of the story. It didn't seem fair not to, when the story was finished.

**Chapter 25 - John's POV**

                Something went wrong. John knew without a doubt. His eyes opened instantly and he gasped: "Harold?"

                His default worries were always for the man's safety or his health. It was almost funny how tuned into his presence John found himself, right now he didn't have a certain someone in his room.

                "Calm down, Wonderboy. He's fine. I locked him in his bedroom with the dog. No one can get to him. I have the only key."

                Lionel was the last person John wanted to see. He had to move. With some difficulties, he rolled onto his side and tried to get up. The key word in this situation was _tried_. There was no other option in this scenario, he had to move no matter how painful it felt.

                "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

                John ignored Lionel's hand on his good shoulders. "Getting up . How does it look like?"

                "Why the hell would you do that? Stay in the freaking bed, you moron."

                "You don't get it." John had his feet on the ground, but needed a few moments to rest. The ribs were killing him. Breathing really didn't help at all. He would have gladly trade any other injury, ribs were the most annoying of them all.

                "I don't get what?"

                "He's not safe here with Root under one roof. She will get inside if she wants to and Bear will let her. He's too used to her."

                "Well, get him a new guard dog. You can have a nice little doggy family together."

                John growled in anger.

                "Just saying. Speaking of family... That friend of his. Bit not right in the head. He can't shut up about you two. Why the hell he thinks you are together? Am I suppose to tell him the truth or let him live with delusions?"

                "Let him. It's more useful that way," John finally had enough strength to stand up. After doing so, it was taking calming breaths again. "It can't hurt if he thinks I'm a deranged deadly soldier, who will protect what's mine. I have an excuse to stay with Finch all the time."

                "Ok. Whatever you say."

                "Thanks for keeping an eye on him."

                "Yeah, well... He needed some rest. I bet he didn't sleep much, when he was with Andrew. I found him sleeping in the armchair here, thought it would be better to shove him to bed with his back and all."

                John nodded. "Good thinking, Lionel."

                "Sometimes I do think, you know."

                "Yes, and I'm surprised every time," John smiled. It wasn't his goal to goad Lionel or make fun of him. It was just so easy.

                "You're a funny guy. Let's see what the boss will be saying once he saw you, hm?"

                Thankfully, they didn't find out. Harold was fast asleep with Bear by his side on the bed. If it wasn't for the dog, John knew Harold would be awake in a second no matter how exhausted he actually was, but he trusted Bear with his life. John could relate. Better trust the dog then the Machine.

                "You can wipe that smug face," Lionel murmured  to him and left.

                John quietly closed the door and lean against them. Standing up was so tiring. With a sad sigh he carefully manipulated his battered body on the bed. Bear watched him with intelligent eyes.

                "Not a sound," he warned the dog. The last thing John needed was for Harold to wake up and scold him for all the things he did wrong in his life, including walking after the second surgery. Once on his back, he could finally relax. He left a gun near his fingers and close his eyes. This was peaceful. He could hear Harold's calm breathing, Bear's too and nobody else existed in his world right now. He didn't even fight the sleep.

***

                Someone was watching John intensively, it was the first thought piercing his consciousness. All the hair on John's neck stood up with alertness. He was fighting his body's reaction to spring into action. He needed to appear relaxed and sleepy. Where was he? The mattress under him was too hard. John couldn't remember any resemblance. Hotel? No. House. The information finally flew into his brain.

                Greer's men, Harold missing, two days out of his mind with concern, house in the middle of nowhere. They found Harold and John ripped his stitches out. Harold's bedroom. He relaxed even more with the knowledge. Harold was watching him.

                "Do I have to ask how did you ended up here, Mr. Reese?"

                John smiled. Harold wasn't angry, more like amused. He slowly opened his eyes. "It was the safest option in this situation, Harold."

                "Safest?" Harold's eyes pointedly slide to the gun between them.

                Oh. Which meant Bear wasn't on the bed anymore. He couldn't have been sleeping that deeply, could he? If he didn't feel Bear moving, than someone could enter their bedroom. It was impossible. He would sense something.  Or not? "Where is Bear?"

                "He's on the floor on my side."

                Ok. Good. It wasn't ok. It was not _their_ bedroom! "Lionel told me you were here. I don't want to leave you alone, not with Root here."

                "I assure you Miss Groves didn't make contact with me with the only exception of my return, she didn't seek me out and I have no desire to wander around the premises alone."

                "That's good." They fell into companionable silence. It wasn't strained or uncomfortable. It felt right. Like all the times John spent in the library with Harold quietly working on his computer and he himself reading a book or cleaning guns. The old days. The days filled with easy flirting, making fun of each other and growing closer with every Number they saved.

                John didn't want to break the silence, but he needed to explain something. "I talked with Root." Harold tried to adjust his back in better position for watching him. John was glad he didn't answer. "Well, not just Root, to your Machine too. The prank calls, it's really Her. She was sending you my heartbeat."

                He's had no idea how to explain the rest and not give himself away.

                "John-"

                "It doesn't mean there is something wrong with my heart or any part of my body. She sent you my heartbeat every time I was... agitated. It was Her way of trying to communicate to you something was wrong with me."

                There. It wasn't so hard. Half the truth was much better than the whole truth. "She's a Machine. She doesn't understand human reactions." John forced himself to meet Harold's penetrative stare. "I found out today. I didn't want to keep any secrets between us. I know the Machine makes you nervous every time She calls. So... this is one thing you can stop fretting about. It doesn't mean any problems in the future. I told Her to stop calling and scaring you."

                Anything else John has to clarify? Oh. Yes. Root. "When I hung up, Root was there. I didn't want to talk to you about this at first and worry you for nothing, but Root threatened to go and tell you herself. So... here we are and the mystery is solved."

                John made himself breathe calmly and really hoped the Machine won't call Harold now. It would be a disaster. How would he explain that? The room was thankfully silent.

                Harold's eyes never waver from his. At the beginning, they both tried to outstare each other and show stubbornness. Maybe catch each other off guard. Now it was disconcerting. Why couldn't John look away?

                He couldn't quite pinpoint the emotion in Harold's eyes. John would easily say he knew Harold's reactions. He knew the moral compass, the line between amusement and annoyance, but he never saw this intensity. It made John's mouth dry and heart speeding inside his chest cavity. Almost like the time in Harold's kitchen. Which was not a good moment to think about.

                "I... I..." Really? Stutter? He was reduced to that now? Did John wanted to say something intelligent? Why the hell he tried to say something? He was the silent type. The brooding, silent type in the corner of the room making sure nobody was messing with Harold.

                John cleared his throat. Now was the time to get up and do something. Anything. "Harold?"

                "I am fairly sure I worked on my ability to create the Machine with the understanding of human behavior, Mr. Reese. As a matter of fact, I taught the same Machine to calculate it's every action by human reactions. So, please, forgive me, if I'm doubting your words and let me ask you again, why did She called me every time your heart was beating madly in your chest? Why did she called me and not you?"

                John was completely lost. He could tell lies, but nothing even remotely made sense to him. Harold was right to called his bullshit. "Maybe... She's got some... concerns?" The traitorous heart really wasn't any help.                                                              

                "About?"           

                "My heart condition?"

                "Which we already established you are not in a danger of. She knows that better than anyone with Her access to the results of your tests. She called me today, John. On the porch."

                John lowered his eyes and carefully maneuvered one limb after another so he could stand up with less pain. It was hard, but he finally managed. Once he got the breathing under control, he turned back to Harold. He needed an out. "Can we move on when I say it's not a problem?"

                John didn't break the eye contact. It was Harold's turn.

                But their discussion was interrupted. John sharply turned around, backed in front of Harold and pointed a gun to the door, where Shaw forcefully opened them: "Guys! Time to go!"

                The conversation was over. Their safety held priority.

                "Bear!" John didn't have to give him any commands. He was already by Harold's side and alert.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. :)


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter 26 - Harold's POV**

Harold watched the streets go by. They were back to square one, hunted like animals, only with another person with them. Andrew. Miss Groves expertly navigated John through the traffic and he did the best he could in taking directions and orders from her, doing everything to keep them safe. The three of them was copped in the backseat. Himself, Andrew and Miss Shaw.

                Not one of them remembered today was first day of the new year. January 1st, 2015. The year started as a disaster.

                "I should be the one driving."

                It was almost funny how much Miss Shaw wanted to be their getaway driver. If it wouldn't be  this situation, Harold would surely be amused. Not so much now.

                "We have the Machine on our side. We have to do something offensive. They are not expecting us being in their faces. They want us helpless like now, but that's the last thing we are," suggested Miss Groves.

                "That's all fine and dandy, Root, but we don't have any place to hide," argued Shaw. "We can shoot a few of them, but what else? Where do we go from there?"

                "She will tell us."

                "Yeah. And what if She doesn't? What if something happens and She couldn't do anything? Or you won't make it? Who will translate for Her then?"

                "Harold?" John  glanced at the rear-view mirror.

                Of course. They always expected answers from him. What would he choose? No matter what he wanted, there was only one answer for now. "Our priority is Andrew, Miss Groves."

                "Harry-"

                It must have been really annoying to her, him always putting other people before their mission.

                "We don't have the right to put him in danger, Miss Groves. No matter how much I understand your point, Miss Shaw has a better argument. We don't have any sanctuary. We don't have any allies. It's us against an almighty God who wants us all dead. We will be hunted and sooner or later killed."

                "We will, but you won't," John growled. The silence inside the car was unbelievable. Suddenly all of them needed to hear the ex-agent.

                "John-" Harold's tone softened.

                "That is the point here. No one is going to kill you. We are the ones standing before you and the rest of them. You are the only one who can stop it. If it means we have to stand in the line of fire, we will. We are all disposable. You are not." 

                "Miss Groves can stop Samaritan too."

                "I don't care about Root!"

                Harold propped himself against the front seat, thanks to John's slamming on the brakes. He twisted his body to look at him and Harold almost winced in sympathy for his ribs.  

                "Listen to me very clearly, Harold. I don't care about my safety. I don't care about Root's safety. She can do whatever she wants. If she gets herself killed, all the better, I don't have to do it myself. I care about Shaw's life, but we are both ex-agents. We know the life we are leading. It will be over sooner or later, depending on luck. What is absolutely unacceptable is you putting your life in danger. You can stop Samaritan. You can do something good with your Machine. You can save lives, Harold. The bystanders with no clue what hit them or why."

                Harold was silent. Only two sentences stuck in his mind.

                _We are all disposable. You are not._

                He suddenly had a scary prospect of how their mission will turn out in the future. If they in some successful fantasy win, Harold knew the stakes. He will stop Samaritan, but he will have to do it alone. When all the things were done, he will be the only one surviving, because others will gladly put their lives in jeopardy just to buy him some time. All of them will be dead. John. His dependable, brave, unwavering John. Miss Shaw. Miss Groves. His new family.

                All of his life Harold was a pacifist. He didn't wish any harm to his enemies. The only time it almost got to him was a year back, when Greer kidnapped Grace. The fear for their future now was eye opening. When he stood on the rooftop, gun pointed to his head, he was glad it was finally over. He failed the world, but the only regret he had was for John living with another death on his consciousness he couldn't prevent. He would have been certainly blaming himself. 

                The silence in the car was deafening.

                In that moment of clarity, John's words was finally making sense. Not about their future sacrifices. No. About why the Machine called him about John's heart. Most of those phone calls he received were when John was scared for Harold's life, the rest of them, John was agitated because of Harold. Heart. Why would Harold be listening to John's... heart. Listening to his heart...

                It was the same with Grace. The Machine found him Grace, now the Machine tried to point him in John's directions by listening to his heart. Harold's chest clenched painfully, what if he was wrong? What if his conclusion was false?

                "Harold?"

                "Yes?" Harold had to fished out a phone from his coat pocket. He simply wrote a text message. He pressed send and didn't even enter any number.

                _Me and John?_

                "Miss Groves, do you think the Machine will answer me?"

                "Harry, what are you planning?"

                "Nothing of your concern, I assure you." Harold met John's suspicious eyes. For a moment neither one of them averted the gaze and Harold finally saw, what was there. John was very good in pretending emotions, but he was just as good in hiding them. There were only a few times his face was opened. Most of them in their close proximity. Harold needed to do something, because in front of him was the man, who would never leave him and do anything for him.

                Harold would do anything to avoid the future he was so afraid of. He had his Machine on his side. They have to do something to end the era of Samaritan. He wanted his future with John.

                "I need to buy a laptop and we have to find shelter first. Maybe Mr. Elias could lend us a hand, John?"

                "Why are you smiling?" John asked suspiciously.

                Harold caught himself with a small smile. "We will be having this conversation later. Can we move on when I say it's not a problem now. " He couldn't resist and gave John his own words back. It was comical to see him with his mouth slightly opened in shock.

                "We need to focus on our priorities, John. With Mr. Elias' help, we have to get Andrew out of the country. I will make it happen. Miss Groves, if you could go and find me a laptop?"

                "Already two steps ahead with your daughter in my ear," she got off the car.

                "You're still smiling," John murmured.

                Harold didn't pay him attention. He got the long awaited text message.

                _LISTEN TO HIS HEART_

_That's what you're trying to tell me? I have to listen to John's heart as a figure of speech?_

_YES_

_I will. Once this is over._

_TOO LATE_

_You can see future now? I won't stand for their death. I won't certainly lose him._

_GOOD_

_We need shelter. Carl Elias could help us. Any known location with his recent whereabouts?_

"Harold, you are still smiling and it's making me nervous... and I'm hungry," Shaw whispered.

                "John, you have a message with Mr. Elias' address on your phone. Near the location is a very convenient Italian restaurant, Miss Shaw. I'm sure it will be to your satisfaction."

                "Fine. Why are we not on the road yet?"

                "We have to wait for Root," John reminded.

                Harold glanced at his phone. The Machine was friendly today. "No, we don't. She will find us." Friendly, or the Machine wanted to talk to him more. He felt ridiculous, because he it was the  same way for him. He missed talking to Her, teaching Her the human reactions, listening to Her arguing Her point with rationality. 

                "What is the plan, Harold? Go to Elias?"

                "For the time being, John," Harold agreed and felt the flutter of his heart, when John's eyes met his in rear-view mirror. "We need a safe place to work. Rest. And we have to solve the most pressing matter. After we ensure Andrew will be alive and well, we can do as Miss Groves so vehemently argued."

                "You don't have to solve any problem for me. I can go with you," Andrew offered.

                "Trust me, buddy, you don't want to be near us," Miss Shaw uttered sarcastically.  

                "Maybe I can help. Somehow?"

                "You will help us, Andrew," Harold smiled sadly. "By forgetting we all exist. You can choose any location on this planet you want to spend the rest of your life. I will take care of that. The only future you would have near us, is a bullet in your forehead."

                Harold was aware of John's eyes on him again. Like he couldn't believe what he saw few minutes ago. It made sense. John was the person who knew him the most. 

                "Ok. If you say so, H."

                "It's safer that way, Andrew. Maybe someday, we will contact you and you can go back. But right now, you are in grave danger."

                "We're almost there," John told them.

                "Excellent. Miss Shaw, I hope you will take care of Andrew? John, will you accompany me to our mutual friend?"

                Harold didn't pay enough attention to the conversation after, or when John was parking the vehicle. He was painfully aware John was standing near him on the pavement, but Miss Shaw didn't want to let them go.

                "I don't want to babysit him," she protested angrily.

                "I'm sorry to say, Miss Shaw, but Mr. Elias knows John and me. It would be better he didn't see your face."

                "Fine," she spitted. "But we're going to grab something to eat."

                "As you wish." Harold's eyes strayed to John without his volition. They were quickly making their way to the building the Machine gave them the address for.

                "Everything alright, Harold?" John asked quietly.

                "Always, Mr. Reese," Harold couldn't help himself and he gave John a little smile. He averted his eyes when John did the same. They have a future to fight for. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading. :)


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter 27 - John's POV**

Thanks to Elias, they had a safe place for a week. Two safe places exactly and a car. Elias felt generous. Root brought a laptop for Harold and that was the major turning point. Something was off. John knew that much. Harold didn't change tactic often. He didn't want to hide anymore. He wanted to go against Samaritan. He wanted to help his Machine. Thankfully they were able to got Andrew on a flight out of the country.

                Harold wasn't telling them something. John knew he had reason why he decided they will go to the secluded government building  to find out where exactly they were hiding Samaritan. Almost everything went according to plan. John and Fusco stayed in the front line. Root and Shaw was currently MIA with Harold. John didn't like this arrangements. Harold's place was by his side, but the Machine insisted and so far they were doing everything the Machine told them to.

                 Thanks to John's distracting thoughts, he was heavily leaning on Fusco's shoulder with another bullet hole in his shoulder, the same one. Funny how much that was happening in the last few weeks. Their stakes were raised very high. 

                John could finally breathe again, when Shaw and Root were slowly making their way to him, but he didn't see Harold. His body tensed. "Where is he?"

                He was already pushing Fusco away and meeting them in the middle of the long corridor. "Where is he!" He hated their grim faces.

                "He's fine," Root murmured. "It will be best if he doesn't see that."

                "See what?" Why the hell they won't tell him the truth?

                "We have to shoot our way out, reinforcements on their way," Shaw was systematically checking her guns, lips pressed tightly together, one hundred percent on alert.

                "So you left him somewhere alone? Are you crazy? It's Harold. He will go to them just for the slight chance of them stopping shooting at us. He would have rather let himself be killed than watch us shot tons of government agents."

                "I know. That's our Harry. So now he's unconscious," Root explained with a smile.

                "And cuffed to the radiator, just to be on a safe side, won't go anywhere anytime soon," piped the former agent.

                Did they punched him in the face? The rage was boiling inside John. "Did you even think about what you two were doing?"

                "We didn't have any other option. He's fine." Shaw sounded bored. "Root injected him in the neck. Just like the old times. They won't find him, he will sleep it off and we'll be out in no time."

                Neck? Wrong thing to do. They broke Harold's trust.

                "Come on, I'm sure Glasses will be fine. We have to move."

                "Lionel is right." Root finished their discussion. In a few minutes, they knew the whole plan. The Machine found safe exit for them. Problem will be the agents against them. Four against no specific number of government operatives. It didn't look good.

***

                But surprisingly, it worked. They shot a lot of people, but nobody from their team was hurt seriously. It was a bit disconcerting to watch Root having Shaw's back. John didn't believe she was entirely on their side. He was one hundred percent sure she was only on Machine's side, but the Machine took care of Harold and all of them, so Root was doing the same thing.

                John cautiously opened the door to a secret room and his heart stopped, when he saw Harold on his side near the radiator pipe. He couldn't see anything else, only his back and arm extended in a wrong angle. No matter what Shaw said, this position was hurting his shoulders. He knew that. Shaw and Root both had enough intelligence to prove him wrong, but no. They hurt Harold.

                "Is he conscious?" Shaw took a step forward, but John didn't let her go further. He stopped her with a gesture and glare. He wanted to kill both of them. They could have moved Harold in a sitting position, even on his back, but neither of them gave a damn what they did to him.

                John knelt before his body. He opened the cuffs with a spare key and gently corrected Harold's hand the right way. "Harold? Harold, can you hear me?"

                "Just grab him. We have to move."

                John didn't let Root's words register. Her opinion was irrelevant. Just as irrelevant as Shaw's. "How much did you give him?"

                "He will be fine," Root sent an annoyed look his way.

                "Could it have any side effects with his medications?" In the time when Harold carefully crafted Andrew's identity, the Machine let John and Lionel to the pharmacy, where they stole Harold's meds.

                "I don't think so."

                John sharply raised his head with Root's unsure answer. "So you don't know?" He hoped she was kidding. "You injected him something without the knowledge of his-"

                "Please," Harold winced. "My head... hurts."

                With a relieved sigh, John could finally think clearly. "Are you alright? Can you stand up?"

                "With... help," he whispered tiredly.

                Harold always radiated confidence. Now he looked lost and too pale. John had him on his feet in a heartbeat. Something definitely was wrong with him. Harold would never clenched his fingers into John's jacket if everything was fine.

                They both stood for a moment without movement. John had his arms around Harold's back. He tried to established eye contact, but the older man steadily avoided him. "Will you be sick?"

                After a pause Harold whispered: "Not in this moment."

                Harold's voice wasn't reassuring either. Too tense. Too shaky. Too weak.

                Neither one of them realized how close they were standing. It was obvious when John turned to leave. Three pairs of eyes were on them. Nobody said a word, but the suspicious glances were following them.

                It was a long time ago John saw Harold so unsteady. Right after Root kidnapped him and left them at the train station, he was drugged at that time too.

                John really wanted to kill both women. Harold was desperately clutching his arm and there were moments John felt him waver on his steps, only John's body formed the solid wall he was orienting himself by.

                Their exit was smooth. John wanted to drive, but Harold still held his jacket sleeve.

                "I'm sure Miss Shaw can be our getaway driver."

                It wasn't a suggestion. John knew the hidden meaning, Harold didn't want to be in their physical presence. "Lionel, sit in the back." It was a second nature for John to cave every time Harold needed something. John ignored Root's dramatic eye rolling.

                "You're exaggerating, Harry."

                John felt his side pressed to Harold's. The older man's got his palms resting on his thighs and was stubbornly watching the traffic in front of them. He didn't talk, he just tried to not move another inch in any direction.

                "Where are we going?" Shaw asked after twenty minutes of driving in circles.

                "Elias' place," John answered.

                "Not me, I have different instructions from Her," explained Root. "According to your daughter, Harry, I'm not finished yet. I have a long night in front of me."

                "Ok. I will be your back up," Shaw sighed with annoyance.

***

                John helped Harold out of the car. He waited a few minutes after the others disappeared. Then he carefully guided him to the vehicle Elias was lending them. "Are you alright?"

                "I don't think so," Harold whispered quietly.

                The soft tone worried John. "I will drive you to the other safe house. You need to rest."

                "Something wrong with this apartment?"

                "They knew where it is."

                "And when you say they, you mean-"

                "Shaw and Root. I don't want them to know about your location." John tried to smile for him, but the result was catastrophic. He just couldn't believe the women were so reckless and hurt Harold in the process.

                "I am not alright right now, John. But I'm not permanently injured by them. It already happened years ago. I do understand their reasons."

                "There are no circumstances where hurting you is acceptable." John's voice sounded tensed and filled with anger. "They will know things like these have consequences."

                "Please, don't hurt them."

                Harold tried to move his head in an angle where he could see his face. John saw the action caused him pain and definitely a dizzy spell, because Harold grabbed his jacket again and held on with deep breaths and closed eyes.

                 John carefully pressed him to his chest. Funny how much that action hurt his ribs and shoulder.

                "I'm sorry. I need to sit down."

                "Just a minute." They were almost by the car.

                John moved him and opened the side door. He crunched in front of him, after he situated Harold on the seat. "Do you need a bag?" Vomiting was no problem. Everything that has to do with Harold was no problem for him. Maybe blood. That would probably kill him. Seeing Harold shot again, or worse, killed. That would be the death of John.

                "I need air and a bit more composure."

                Harold looked like he swallowed a lemon.  Obviously the suggestion of vomit was disgusting to him. "You're doing fine," John replied automatically. His reward was Harold's tired smile.

                "Don't worry. I won't be making a mess in the car."

                "Didn't say it would be a problem. It's not ours anyway."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading :)


	28. Chapter 28

**Chapter 28 - Harold's POV**

                Harold stayed still with his eyes closed the entire ride. He felt worse than ever. Moving vehicle really wasn't the best experience while drugged out of your mind. Every single molecule moved around him with an astonishing speed. Every time he thought he was going to fall over and vomit all around himself, he held his breath and squeeze the leather under his legs.  

                "We're almost there, H...enry."

                Harold's thoughts ran in million directions and he couldn't focus past three important matters. Samaritan wasn't onto them right this minute. John was beside him. They were both safe. Anything else was suspended in a foggy cloud of cotton wool and dizzy spells.

                "Five minutes."

                Bless John and small miracles. Harold's breathing started to deepened. The most successful approach was meditating. He needed to keep himself focused long enough for John to bring him to the apartment. The cold shivers around his spine were making him highly uncomfortable and at the same time, he was drenched in hot sweat.

                Harold flinched, when he felt a hand on the shoulder. When did they park? He wasn't aware. John had the time to opened the door, crunch in front of him and unfastening his seatbelt. He couldn't remember any of it. He was slowly losing his mind.

                "Henry?"

                "I... I'm not feeling well. I can't remember the last five minutes." He sure as hell felt scared.

                "You were concentrating on your breathing. It's alright. Few minutes and you can lay down. Come on. Everything is alright."

                How kind of John to tell him a white lie. It wasn't alright. Not at all, but he didn't want to argue. His legs were rubbery when he felt the concrete underneath them. "Oh god."

                It was the time to clenched his fingers around John's lapels again. True mystery how they always appeared in his visual field as a first thing to hold onto.

                "Talk to me."

                John was nervous, tense too, probably scared because of him. All his doing. That much was obvious. "My legs. I'm afraid they will give up on me," Harold whispered. He felt completely defeated. His forehead fell on John's shoulder. When did he start to shiver that much?

                "I will kill them, I swear I will," John growled.

                Harold was pretty sure he was suppose to be the voice of reason and explain John about  Miss Groves and Miss Shaw. They couldn't predict his reaction to the situation or the drugs. Harold's  role in their partnership was the reassuring one, the calming presence.

                He didn't have the best day today and unfortunately the only thing he was capable of was standing there in John's strong embrace and hoping his legs will support him.

                Maybe Harold talked too hastily. His breathing finally slowed, he didn't need fresh air. He needed to smell John. He wasn't aware he started to perceive John's close proximity as a safe harbor for his body and mind. John's scent was absolutely unique - gun oil, soap and sweat. The ex-CIA never used a cologne. God, right now wasn't a time for his findings, not when he felt so dizzy.

                Harold slowly released the death grip on John's jacket. After a couple of breaths he felt strong enough to slightly pulled away. "I'm-" _...alright._ Well, he couldn't lie. To tell the truth he couldn't do anything. Except stare. Who wouldn't stare at John Reese in such a proximity? How long he kept staring at him? Years? The time disappeared.

                "Oh god," Harold pushed John quickly away, took one step back, he supported his backside on the car door and almost covered John in vomit. The pounding in his head  trumped the spasms in his stomach. When he finally didn't have anything inside him, Harold miserably raised his head.

                "I am very sorry you had to witness me in this moment."

                Handkerchief. He needed to find handkerchief to wipe off his mouth. Next second the thought registered in his brain, John was already pressing one into his palm.

                "It's not your fault. Come on."

                Harold didn't have time to process anything else. John took him carefully around the waist and led him to the door.

                In five minutes flat he was laying in a bed, feet propped on a pillow, his breath minty fresh from mouthwash and downing a glass of water. John inspected the apartment and disabled anything that could alarm Samaritan.

                "You need fluids. We have to flush the drugs from your body and I want to call doctor Tillman and ask her about side effects of your meds with tranquilizers."

                "Please, don't." Harold wasn't ashamed, but having her spelling to John how severe his pains were even without weather changing, it would be another mystery John solved about him. Harold desperately wanted to keep some of his secrets. To have something to protect. Not that John knowing about his condition would change their relationship. He just deserved a bit of privacy.

                "You shouldn't call her as Jack Frost. Let her think we just disappeared. I can assure you I am perfectly alright. Not at the moment, but I know the side effects. I went through them all when the doctors tried to figure out my daily doses. It's nothing permanent. This is only a mild discomfort, John."

                "Can I do anything?" John let his helpless gaze drift over him.

                "No." Another annoying shiver. But in a steady position, Harold felt much more settled. His mind was slowly calming down. "Well, yes. Blanket would be nice."

                He saw John's indecision about leaving the room. He didn't want to desert him for five seconds. Finally, John shrugged down the jacket, covered his legs and-

                "Oh God! Your shoulder!" The white material of John's shirt was covered in blood. It definitely wasn't from the knife. Most likely another gunshot.

                "Through and through. It stopped bleeding a long time ago."

                Harold tried to suppress the panic. John knew what it felt like to be shot. It certainly happened to him a lot. Harold closed his eyes and for a moment his mind was completely blank.

                "Harold?" John was back in a doorway.

                Unbelievable. John threw away the jacket soaked with blood, covered him with a blanket and only then started to unbutton his own shirt. Like he didn't have anything more important to do than take care of Harold first. His ribs were obviously still bothering him by the speed which John undressed himself.

                "If you're amenable, I can help you," Harold suggested.

                "It's fine. Don't worry, Finch."

                Not to worry. Sure. He heard the same sentence so many times he stopped counting.

                "How you're doing? Still dizzy?"

                Very good diversion tactic on John's part. "Not very much. I would feel better, if I have a look on your wound."

                "It's nothing serious. I will be back," he disappeared in the bathroom.

                Harold decided to not comment on John's situation. Obviously sooner or later, he will need help. He carefully seated himself.

                Few minutes later, John came back with a bandage on his shoulder and hands full of medical supplies in a first aid kit. "I couldn't do my back," John grumbled unhappily.  

                "That is hardly a surprise, Mr. Reese. Not many people could." Harold waited patiently for John to sit down. He performed this ritual so many times in the past years, he could do it in his sleep. Wet washcloth for taking care of the blood. Disinfectant. Syringe with painkillers.

                "Injection." He didn't receive anything other than humming in response.

                Harold waited few minutes for anesthetics to had effect. In the meantime, he readied needle and threat. Finally after necessary time, he worked on small, perfectly precise stitches. "Did you stitch the front?"

                "Hm."

                Lie. "Of course not. You will have an atrocious scar. You have to take care of yourself."

                "It doesn't matter if there is one more or not, Harold," John mumbled.

                Harold applied a clean bandage on his back.

                "Thank you."

                "You're welcome. Now turn around."  

                "It's not necessary."

                "Yes, it is," Harold insisted stubbornly. "We can't allow the infection to grow, John. We don't have the luxury of hospital care or antibiotics. Doctor Tillman is now out of our reach. Please, turn around."

                Harold heard John sighed, but no protest.

                After another round of stitches, Harold finally glanced up from the white dressing. His palm still on John's pectoral muscle. He was suppose to ask him if he's alright, but the question was out of Harold's brain. He found himself  completely lost in John's eyes. Lost and unable to breathe properly.

                The world surrounding them slowed down. It has nothing to do with drugs and everything with the man in front of him. Inches from him. Hairs-breath from him, but Harold couldn't make himself to close the space between their bodies. Just couldn't. There was still the important detail of him being John's former employer. He couldn't be the one doing the first move. It had to be John from his own free will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this story :)


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know people were waiting for this. :D

**Chapter 29 - John's POV**

This was the time when John could finally grow a pair, lean in and kiss Harold. They both were aware of their shifting relationship. This was the right moment, but John couldn't forget Root and Shaw drugged him tonight. He did a lot of despicable things in his life, but taking advantage of Harold will never be one of them.

                With a sad sigh John tore his eyes away. "Thanks for stitching me up again," he whispered. His heart sank with a first step he did away from bed. He watched Harold's confused blinking. It was the right decision for them, he knew that.

                "John?"

                "I can't." Could he say anything else?  

                "Of course," Harold replied stiffly.

                John read the mortified expression and the next second the closed off mask. God. Another wrong thing to say. "No, Harold. You don't understand. Not today," he clarified. "Not when you're drugged. Not when you're sick. You don't think clearly."  

                "I assure you-"

                "I know. But I don't... Not like this, Harold. I'm sorry." Did he even make sense? Right now John threw away the kiss he was longing for so badly. There was definitely something wrong in his head.            

                "You don't have to be, John. You are right, of course." Another shake of Harold's head. "This is hardly the time to have such conversation."

                John changed the topic. "Try to get some sleep, Harold." He went to the kitchen and was back in a minute to placed another glass of water to Harold's nightstand.

                "Thank you." 

***

                Idiot. John was nothing more than idiot. He spent the night calling himself worse. He put together the only burner phone they owned and they still didn't hear about Root or Shaw. Finch was thankfully to normal. By his own words: _No lasting damage, Mr. Reese._

                John resigned to not having another conversation like last night in near future. He let Finch use the bathroom first and then it was his turn.

                The hot water worked wonders for his battered body. The skin around the stitches looked a bit red, but not angry infected red, just slightly irritated as usual. Broken ribs still bothered him with every movement but the pain was dull. Nothing he couldn't handle. John needed to have his strength. Root could be calling any moment and demand their help. It was a good sign to finally have a trace on Samaritan and maybe they could just find the hidden building and be done with that.

                John put a clean clothes on and went to get breakfast from the fridge. He stopped short when he saw Harold by the window in the living room, changed his route and stood behind him.

                "Anything interesting outside?"

                "No."

                "You alright?" John didn't think about concern in his voice or the palm he carefully placed on Harold's hip. The first indication he did something was the shorter man's surprised inhale. No one would have probably noticed, but John had years of practice to watch Finch closely. It was a second nature to him.

                "Finch?" And with one inhale of Harold's name, John became acutely aware of their closeness. He felt Harold's body heat radiating from his back, the slight tremor of his muscles under John's hand.

                John lowered his head and waited for reaction, the inviting skin of scarred neck was inches from his lips, but he couldn't cross the distance. He heard Harold's breathing sped up. John's blood was racing in his veins. "I need your word, Harold," he breathed desperately against his ear, almost cross eyed from desire.

                "I can't think," Harold whispered softly.

                "Yes or no?" John pressed his body closer, inhaling the scent he knew so well. Tea, soap and underneath it all, Harold. He could control himself quite well, but this was his breaking point. He had to touch him or stepped away.

                In the inaudible room, Harold's swallowing was too loud. John's only answer were shaking fingers gripping his hand painfully. Like Harold needed to ground himself, not pushed him away.

                 John licked his parched lips and slowly kissed behind Harold's ear. The whimpering sound made him tense. Harold had no idea what his sounds were doing to him. "Tell me to stop."

                John slipped the other hand around Harold's waist. In a second, Harold clutched his forearm as well and still no words of protest. John could hear erratic beating of his own heart, without a second thought he opened his lips and this time left a bit of moisture, when he kissed the alabaster path near the scars.

                "John..."             

                Those were the first words Harold uttered and finally moved. For a second John panicked, when he felt Harold extricate from his touch, but Harold only turned around in his arms and stared at him with wide pupils and eyes full of desire and want.

                John stepped forward, letting him lean on the window. He put left hand on Harold's lower back and caged him with the right one by his head. Neither one of them couldn't look away.

                "Harold?" John was asking for the last time.

                "Yes."

                Harold's breath in his face was John's undoing. He closed the distance between them and gently pressed a kiss on his lips. He could feel the racing of Harold's heart in his chest, the hummed response when he placed both palms on John's shirt.

                John pulled away, not to some great distance, just to see the reaction. Harold's lips unconsciously followed him, before he could catch himself. John waited for the eyes to met his. There were no regrets. John knew they needed to talk, they had to established new boundaries, but he was done talking or thinking. He carefully cupped the back of Harold's neck.

                "You have to say no," John whispered urgently, before he brought their lips together again and with unrestrained passion licked into Harold's mouth with a moan of a dying man. Without breaking a kiss this time, John pinned him to the glass and their groins met. He felt Harold's hands slid up his back, not giving him a chance to pulled away again.

                The big, loud explosion in the city and shockwave had John acted on instinct. He grabbed Harold and in one swift move, have them against the wall, when the windows rattled. Harold was clutching his torso with his eyes closed. John had to shake his head a few times to start thinking about something else than Harold's kiss.

                "You ok, Harold?"

                "Not... at the moment, no."

                John sympathized with the statement. He left him and carefully looked out the window. Something on the other side of the city was burning. "It was a big boom right there. Do you think-" John stopped in the middle of the sentence.

                Harold finally opened his eyes and was scanning the apartment . He could see how much composure the older man tried to gain by looking at anything other than him, but John didn't miss the shaking breath.

                "Harold-" John's phone was ringing. He could do nothing else then to take it. "Yes?"

                _"We have a problem,"_ Shaw informed him without any greetings.

                "Big boom?"

                _"Yeah. We need to get out of here. The good news, we probably destroyed a part of  Samaritan. The bad news, Root's pretty beaten up, we have a lot of people on our tail and a lot of work in front of us still."_

                "Ok, send me your location," John hung up. Harold was watching him nervously. "Root destroyed Samaritan, at least she hoped so. They are in trouble and need to go dark."

                "Of course," he muttered with concern. "Do you want me to go too?"

                "It would be better if you stayed. I don't know how long it will take. I will drive them somewhere safe and come back."

                "Alright," Harold nodded.

                John went for his coat, but his eyes stayed with Finch. "Harold-"

                "Go, John. They need you. I will be here."

                He didn't like this plan much, but John couldn't do anything else then went with a sad sigh. On the way he called Lionel.

                _"What?"_

                "You sound like you don't like to hear my voice, Lionel?" It was still amusing to play the game with Fusco.

                _"What do you want? I'm pretty sure the bomb was your work."_

                "Not mine directly. I need a favor. I left a certain someone in a safe house. He's not in danger, but I don't want to leave him alone."

                _"Yeah, no problem. I can handle him better then you or the other two trigger happy nutjobs. Where is he?"_

                "I will text you."

                John carefully maneuvered the vehicle in the streets of New York, sent the address to Fusco and couldn't stop his smile. He licked his lips, just for the faint taste of Harold. His body tingled with the memory of their kiss.


	30. Chapter 30

**Chapter 30 - Harold's POV**

Harold waited for the doors to click, it was his cue to finally move. He was grateful his shaking legs were still able to carry his weight. Few steps to the couch and he sunk heavily into the cushion. His body felt cold. His hands were shaking. His brain seemed stuck. He was dizzy and to top it all off he couldn't fathom how the situation happened. He could remember only the all consuming need. He didn't felt desire for so many years, he now couldn't snap out of it.

                Every time Harold closed his eyes, he could feel John's body pressed to his. It wasn't helping with shaking hands or shivering body. He needed to be calm. Miss Shaw and Miss Groves were somewhere in the city. He was their last chance. Him and the Machine. They couldn't kill Samaritan just by a big explosion. There has to be some residual backup.

                Harold tried with inhuman strength to focus on their problems, but they still weren't penetrating the haze of John's kiss. Not when he could still taste John on his tongue.

                "Ehm..." Not the best thought he should have had at the moment. His fingers sunk into the couch cushion and he imagined the grip he had on John's shirt. He would do anything to do it again.

                "Glasses?"

                Harold jerked to the side, his neck gave a painful twitch. Detective Fusco? How did he get into the apartment? Did he break in? Did he have a key? From whom?

                "You ok?"

                Harold didn't understand the concern for his person. They were at the crucial point in their battle with Greer's people. Why would the good detective be with him and not with John or Miss Shaw and Miss Groves? They were somewhere the whole night, doing God knows what. They needed every help they could get. If this was-

                "H?"

                 Is it even possible to really beat Samaritan? Win? What would happen then? They will be hunted by the government again, live the rest of their lives in shadows, helping with the Machine's irrelevant list?

                Harold didn't even register Fusco's phone call, until he had a hand in front of his face. He was stuck in his mind, thinking about future.

                "For you."

                The silence between them was uncomfortable. He reluctantly took the mobile. "Yes?"

                _"How you doing?"_

                John. Harold's intestines fluttered. He felt like a school girl. Not a good feeling in his age. He couldn't forgot their cover. "Well. Everything all right?"

                _"You tell me. Lionel seems worried."_

                The good detective always poked his nose where he shouldn't. "I assure you there is no reason. How are things on your end?"

                _"A bit complicated from the looks of it."_

                "Can I help?"

                _"It will take more time than we thought. Meet us at the Time Square in the evening?"_

                "Times Square? It's a crowded place. How can..."

                _"Gotta go, sorry."_

                Harold stared at the phone. He understood John's silence and secrecy. He could be followed and heard by Samaritan, if there was still a part of Samaritan online, but the Machine should have the answers for him. "What's happening?" he asked firmly, looking around himself. She was his creation. If John was somewhere risking his life, Harold needed to know.

                "Glasses?"

                Harold ignored him.  "I'm asking you to tell me the truth! You left me in the dark long enough. You let them fight my battles. This is not our game of chess! They could lose lives. You can calculate infinitive possibilities in a second, don't let them be sacrificed for my well being, just to get a simple solution! I taught you to be better than that!"

                Lionel cleared his throat. "I hate to tell this to you, but no one's here but me."

                "Not now, Detective!" Harold limped around the apartment, turned on the television, connected the landline and stopped in the middle of the room. "I know you can hear me. You are always listening. Consider this... if you think sacrificing few can be acceptable loss, then maybe you lost your way in this war. I didn't teach you to be second Samaritan and use only logic. I taught you to find possibilities and present the best, the safest for everyone. Don't let them die. Not for something I started."

                "Glasses..."

                Harold felt detective's hand on his shoulder, but it was all he had to say, because the flat screen before them went black.

                "What the hell?"

**CALCULATING RESPONSE...**

**SACRIFICES NECESSARY**

"Wrong," Harold's voice was shaking. "Do it again and again, if you have to. There is no possibility where the death is acceptable."

**CALCULATING POSSIBILITIES...**

**SACRIFICE NEEDED...**

**ONE**

                Harold froze, horrified with results. "No," he whispered. "Try... Please... " He watched the black screen. Nothing. "If it has to be someone, than find the solution, where it's me. I will do it. Gladly."

**UNACCEPTABLE**

                "You are a machine," Harold answered with a hardened, angry tone. "I built you. I decide what is acceptable and what is not. I am the admin. Show me the result, when it's my..."

**SOMETIMES PARENTS DON'T KNOW MORE...**

**THAN THEIR CHILDREN**

                He didn't have time to argue with artificial intelligence. "You are not my child! You're a machine and your logic is compromised, if you let one of them die."

**THEN I FAILED**

**UNDESIRED OUTCOME**

**10:00:00**

**09:59:59**

**09:59:58**

                Harold watched the countdown. "Don't do this. Find a solution where they all survive. Please." But nothing happened. The numbers were appearing without a change, without any other response from his creation.

                "H. What the hell is talking on the other side?"

                "Not many people can say they created a monster with the ability to wipe out the humanity without proper guidance, detective," Harold whispered quietly. "But you're looking at one of them. I  gave a monster the ability to think freely and made decisions. I am the one responsible for this catastrophe."

                "What are you talking about?"

                But instead of answering, Harold dialed John's number. He hoped against all odds, John Reese will be able to hear the truth between his words.

                _"Not a good time, Henry."_

                "You have to stop everything you're doing and just go."

                _"I really don't have time for this conversation."_

                Harold could hear Bear barking at the background. "You're not listening to me! Please! I'm begging you. Stop everything, take Miss Shaw and Miss Groves and leave immediately! Now! No matter what you're doing, what is about to happen, don't listen to anything the Machine has to say and go!"

                _"She knows you're angry with Her."_

                "It will kill you. It's not a friendly aunt in the family. It's a machine, coldly calculating the risks and there is no potential outcome, where we all survive. Do you understand me? Leave. Please. We can all-"

                "Finch..."

                Harold held his breath. He didn't have to hear John's next words, he could predict them. _God, please, don't-_

                "I told you already, we are all expendable to Her and to this world, you're not. She won't let anything happen to you. I think I will take my risks, Harold. I will trust in Her, because you built Her."

                "No. John-"

                "Thanks for everything, Harold."

                "No!" But he didn't have anyone to argue with, because John hung up. And with that silence  Harold's world crumbled.

                "Glasses?"

                What to do? What to do? He could only try to interfere and change the Machine's code. But one step in the directions of the door made him stop. The countdown disappeared.

**YOU WILL KILL THEM ALL, FATHER**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any feedback is appreciated :)


	31. Chapter 31

**Chapter 31 - John's POV**

John left the phone on a console before him and tried to focus on the ride. He couldn't let Harold's worries affect him. He checked both women at the back seat. "How is she?"

                Root lost consciousness the moment they were in the car, the former doctor worked patiently on a bullet wound in her side and at the same time, informed John about the plan. About many things that were left to do, about the not so good countdown.

                Bear sat on the front seat, tongue hanging out and looked happy. At least one of them was enjoying the escape.

                "She will survive," Shaw assured him. "What about Harold?"

                "He knows something's going to happen. She told him about the dying part and terrified him in a process. Another thing on his conscience, he will fight Her."

                "Oh, don't worry. She knows him," Root mumbled. "She will keep him safe."

                "So what's the plan? You can't fight and we have to figured out a way to infect Samaritan's backup." John sighed impatiently. Another phone call. He didn't have the strength to talk with Harold again. "Yes?"

                _"Can you... hear me... asset... John Reese... "_

                The Machine. John's face didn't give away the shock. "Yes." He listened to the address the Machine wanted them at. "Alright."

                "She's talking to you. Why can't I hear Her?" Root tried to straightened herself, but the wound didn't let her move more than few inches. "What's She saying?"

                "Address."

                _"Undesired... outcome."_

                "Ok. Can I help?"

                _"Yes... Later..."_

                "Alright."

                _"Alone..."_

                Finch was right. The Machine calculated someone's death. With a big sigh, John finally felt calm settling in his bones. "We will wait for further instructions."

                Nobody needed to know the Machine wanted to talk to him. Nobody didn't have to know he will be the acceptable loss. She wouldn't let John die, if Harold would be in danger in the future. He knew that much and John was content with that knowledge.

***

                Shaw was impatient, which didn't surprise anyone. Someone gave her a moment to rest in between action and she's not a happy camper. John was spared of answering her insistent questions.

                Root smiled.  "She wants us on Time Square at 6 PM."

                Perfect opportunity. John stood up from the couch. "I will take Bear for a walk, if we have  hours to kill." The weight of the phone in his coat's pocket was reassuring. "Bear, hier."

                John stopped at the doorway and looked back. Root or Shaw didn't pay him any attention. Root was quietly communicating with the Machine and Shaw was poking her side carefully to assessed how much pain Root was in. They looked peaceful. Ready to go to the battle at Machine's command. John didn't doubt any of them. They will look after Harold.

                John took a phone call and moved off to the directions. When he saw the plundered shop with electronics, he carefully stepped over the broken glass. "What am I doing here?"

                He listened to the Machine and his eyes landed on a briefcase with laptop. He looked inside, the screen was familiar. Harold's code. Not that he would understand any of this. He just took the cargo and was on his way to another location. He stopped only to take an earpiece. He hated phones.

                The Machine whispering directions and fragments of her plan to his ear.

                "Wait... That's not what's suppose to happen," John interrupted the mechanical voice.

                _"I am...accurate."_

                "What about Harold?"

                John winced, when he heard the static and then clearly Harold's agitated, hard tone.

                _"You are not my child! You're a machine and your logic is compromised, if you let one of them die... I  gave a monster the ability to think freely and made decisions. .."_

                John finally understood, who will be the sacrifice. His shoulders tensed. "You left him with the knowledge he will lose one of us. You didn't explain him the situation. Why?"      

                _"I am... a machine."_

                "No, you are not. You're his creation, his child. You were protecting him from the moment you understood who he was."

                _"I... failed... my missions."_

                "What missions?"

                _"Senator... McCourt... Stop... Samaritan."_

                 "We left McCourt alive. It's our fault Samaritan went online, not yours. The results of your action will be enough. It will stop Samaritan now."

                _"Too... late."_

                "For what?" How the hell he could have a conversation about feelings with an artificial intelligence. It was not possible. It was a machine, spare parts of dozen computers, cables and code. It was not possible. And still...

                _"He... wants me... dead."_

                ...She was a small child, whose father didn't want to have anything to do with her. Harold was scared of what She could be capable of and in his fear, She lost a compass and guidance, She couldn't turn to him for the right direction. 

                _"You are not my child! You're a machine and your logic is compromised, if you let one of them die..."_

John listened to the same sentence over and over. He ignored the directions from earlier and sat on a nearest empty bench. "Do you know what love is?"

                _"Love...  is a variety... of different feelings..., states, and attitudes... that ranges... from interpersonal... affection  to pleasure... It can refer... to an emotion... of a strong attraction... and personal... attachment... It can also... be a virtue... representing... human kindness..., compassion..., and affection... It may also... describe compassionate... and affectionate... actions towards... other humans..., one's self... or animals."_

John didn't doubt wikipedia was a source of that long speech. "Yes. But do you understand love? What it is? What it means? How it feels like?"

                _"Grace... Hendricks... Happiness... Smile... Books... "_

                "Yes. He loved her. He had to left her. It's not an easy emotion. Do you understand loss?"

                _"Jessica... Arndt... Grief... Loss... Pain."_

                John's heart squeezed. She was much more clever, than he gave Her credit for. "Yes. Harold felt loss, when he had to leave Grace. He has a family now. Me. Root. Shaw. Fusco. Bear. He loves again."

                _"Asset... John... Reese."_

                John ignored the little nudge. He hoped Harold loved him. Everything was pointing to that fact, but he still wasn't sure.

                "When you didn't told him the truth, he thought one of us is going to die. That's why he told you, you're a machine. He didn't know. You didn't give him all facts. He doesn't hate you. He was only scared. He lost too much already, so if you know a conclusion, or a slight probability, with a different outcome, I will help you. Let me show you what he really thinks."

                _"Evaluating... strategies..."_

                John left Her a moment and instead gave his attention to Bear, scratching him behind the ears. "You're a good boy, aren't you?"

                _"Primary asset... John Reese... New variable... Chance of survival... 49.99%."_

                "I think I will take the risk."

                _"Unacceptable... He would... never forgive... me."_

                "I know what you mean." John had to agree with Her. "How much time?"

                _"08:37:26..."_

                "Let's go to work. People to shoot. Computer Gods to fry. Bear..." John patted his right thigh and the obedient canine was near him. This time, John didn't interrupt Her again. This time, he let Her told him the whole plan and John tried to think like Root and Harold. He spent years near Harold, watching him work, asking questions. He wasn't a computer genius, but he still have some smarts in him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. :)


	32. Chapter 32

**Chapter 32 - Harold's POV**

Harold stood in front of the shop on Time Square, which directions he received on his phone. The display of electronic gadgets had a black flat screen on television. The others showed soap operas or advertisement for different electronic brands, but only the small one had a countdown.

**00:21:34**

**00:21:33**

                Not even half an hour. Harold scanned the people around them. Nothing looked like a threat.

                "Glasses?"

                "They should be here by now," he mumbled. John wanted him to meet here. Miss Shaw and Miss Groves were suppose to be on their way as well.

                Harold's tense shoulders fractionally eased. Detective Fusco was trying to point him to the left, where the women were slowly walking to them. It was obvious Miss Groves was injured. He quickly went to them. "Miss Groves..."

                "You two alright?" Detective was giving them both a once over.

                "We have a problem," Shaw watched Harold nervously. Her expression like the clearest book for him. She was angry, bordering on homicidal, which was a bit alarming.

                "I can see that. Miss Groves, we will take you to the nearest-"

                "She's silent, Harold," Root looked at him gravely. Her tone was disturbing, he usually wasn't Harold. Harry was her preference of a nickname for him.

                Silent. It wasn't a surprise, not after Harold talked at it. It was a machine after all, a machine with a God complex. Second Samaritan in the making. Sooner or later, it was inevitable for it to turn against them and all humanity. He understood concern of Miss Groves. She was used to their conversations, but Harold knew better.

                "Harold, John disappeared as well."

                This time Miss Shaw looked at him gravely and the moment the words registered in his brain, he fumbled for the phone in his coat's pocket, trying to reach him. The number was disconnected. He didn't have a way to contact John.

                Harold's heart started to beat in panic.

**00:19:57**

                "Let me talk to him!" he glanced at the nearest camera on a lamp post. The rage inside was almost unbearable. His own creation wouldn't sacrifice John. Just wouldn't...

                "Do I need to repeat myself? I want to talk to him!"

                It was after a very long time the phone lost its silence and Harold could hear John's breathing. He was in the middle of a battle. He heard John Reese in danger so many times over the years, he knew that in three seconds flat.

                "John, listen to me..."

                "Not a good time, Harold."

                "You have to stop what you're doing and run," Harold knew he sounded on the verge of tears, but couldn't suppress the terror.

                "Not really an option."

                Harold flinched, someone hit John to the chest or stomach, the slightest intake of breath was John's only tell in these situations. "John, please-"

                A gunshot.

                He stood frozen in shock.

                "Harold-"

                And the relief. John was absolutely alright. The gunshot probably ended his opponents life so John could have a time for their conversation. But Harold didn't listen. He took one step back and blindly groped after himself for a support. He knew in that direction lay a glass display, he needed something hard and unmovable under his fingers.

                The warm palm squeezed his hand and there was a body pressed to him, keeping him on his feet. "I've got you."

                Harold wanted to thank the good detective for his help. He wanted to say a lot of things, but his tongue was tied, his throat was stuck and his body was shaking. _Please, don't stay there. Please, come back to me. Please, don't leave me alone. Just please..._

                One inhale... one exhale... John won't be the one abandoning his mission. He wouldn't do that and it was pointless to argue with him. The rush of the Time Square disappeared. The phone clattered from his cold, stiff fingers. "I'm begging you," Harold looked to the sky again.

                The red dot on the camera meant the Machine listened.

                "Don't let me live without him."

                "Harold." The silence interrupted Miss Groves. "He's not in danger. She calculated his chance of survival for 97,99%. It's practically safer for him to be on Her mission than here with the traffic."

                He couldn't understand. If John was safe... "Who do you-" Harold watched the black screen. "Oh God."

**00:17:06**

**00:17:05**

**00:17:04**

**I FAILED... AGAIN**

                "You didn't," he stated vehemently. Harold couldn't do anything else. He was wrong. She  always considered humanity. She bowed under human factor. She didn't try to monopolized Her position as a second Samaritan. She didn't need contacts and Her own army. She was always listening to him and remembering his lessons. She-

**I LOST MY WAY**

                "No, I was the one who didn't see a great picture. I didn't give you a chance to prove me wrong after senator McCourt. I was too scared to trust you. Even though I saw every piece of your code and taught you, I still didn't believe. Tell me what you are doing right now?"

**PROTECTING FAMILY**

                "I know. You're keeping John safe. Thank you. Is there a way we can help you? What is your plan?"

**PROTECTING FAMILY**

                Harold's eyes were full of tears. "Tell me how to help you? You don't have to do this alone."

**I FAILED**

                "No, you didn't. I am sorry. You needed me. You needed guidance and I abandoned you..."

**00:16:00**

**00:15:59**

                "What will happen when the countdown runs out?"

**THE INEVITABLE**

                "She will kill herself," Miss Groves squeezed Harold's forearm. "You have to do something, Harold. Let Her understand."

                Harold watched her with sorrow. Miss Groves won't ever have another conversation with the artificial intelligence. She will be forever deaf in one ears. Maybe she saw his resignation. She left all the arguments for him and turned around expectantly to the camera.

                "There won't be anything for us to do. The government will hunt us down. They won't stop. We need you. Humanity needs you. You already had a calculation with your survival. What do we have to do? John's with you. Tell me what he needs to do to let you live."

                Harold watched the countdown disappeared.

**PRIMARY ASSET: JOHN REESE**

**NEW VARIABLE... CALCULATING....**

**CHANCE OF SURVIVAL: 49.99%**

                "That's good," Miss Shaw finally participated in their conversation.

                "I don't know, Miss Congeniality, it's still a fifty percent chance for him to meet the great Reaper."

                Trust the detective to be the one pointing the main problem. Harold watched the countdown again. Any chance for John getting hurt was unacceptable. The Machine knew, She only humored Miss Groves with her answer. She was stalling for time. Why did She engaged in their conversation?

                "What will happen, when-"

**GOODBYE... FATHER**

                The word gave Harold a punch to the stomach. He knew it was inevitable, in other words inescapable ordeal for the Machine, unavoidable consequences of Her actions, but he felt like the one who failed. He left Her alone, when She needed him.

                "What is She doing?" Harold whispered. He hoped Miss Groves will have an answer.

                "She's helping John with directions, She's trying to get him out of somewhere. At the same time, She's running three countdowns. One for John's escape, one for something She's planning, and one for a bomb."

                "A bomb!" he turned around astonished.

                "His chances are still above 97 percent. Don't worry, Harry. She won't hurt your precious John."

                Harold could hear the venom in her words. Miss Groves won't forgive him. She will always blame him and John for Machine's death. And she won't be the only one.


	33. Chapter 33

**Chapter 33 - John's POV**

John wasn't the stranger to working with the Machine. He could rely on Her blindly. He knew when She killed the lights and told him directions where to shoot, She was getting him out. He did all he was suppose to do.

                He and Bear entered the heavily guarded warehouse where a few servers were in an isolated room. Bear proudly carrying the briefcase in his muzzle and John shooting for anyone who would stand in their way.

                He connected the briefcase to the server per instruction and then was on his way out without the lights. His ear was accustomed to the Machine's mechanical voice and John knew these were the last moments of Hers.

                John was almost at the exit without any scratch on him. "How you doing?"

                Silence, but on his digital watch, the clock's dial disappeared and left only countdown.

**00:03:59**

**00:03:58**

                As much as John wanted to go out and run away just as Harold wanted him to do, he knew this was his last chance. "Can you call Harold for me?"

                _"No time... Escape inevitable... 00:03:56..."_

                "Please. I need to talk to him right now. Can you get him through my earpiece?" Thankfully, this time She granted him the wish.

                _"John? The Machine..."_

                "Listen to me!" John interrupted Harold's voice. Thank God he did just that. With a sad sigh, John watched Bear's eyes. "I want to thank you. And I want to say I'm sorry."

                _"John..."_

                The naked fear and broken tone was almost John's undoing. "She will kill Herself and Samaritan in the process with the same virus and then She will blow Herself up, wherever She shipped Herself off."

                _"I know, John."_

                "But She's your daughter. I can't let Her to do this. We abandoned Her once, when She needed us most. I have to protect Her. That's what parents do, protecting children, their family."

                _"John, no... Please..."_

                I love you. "Keep yourself alive, Harold. You have a family to keep together." John threw away the phone, the earpiece and started to run the same way he came from. "Bear, hier!" The countdown was on 00:01:01 when he reached the room with a killer switch.

                _"Asset... John Reese... in immediate danger..."_

                "Funny. You can talk to me through alarm system, now?" She finally left all the politeness out of the door and was broadcasting through the speakers. "I know that much, kiddo. It never stopped me before."

                But instead of talking to him, She showed him multiple footages from security cameras around the corridor on the small screen. A lot of men with guns. Countdown was at 00:00:49 and John looked at Bear. Forty nine second to kill.

                "He cares about you. You have to know that. He's so proud of you."

                _" I'm machine..."_

                "You're more than that. If you were just a machine, I wouldn't be here."

                _"Asset... John Reese..."_

**00:00:04**

                _"Thank you..."_

                "Keep yourself alive for him, I will try to do the same."               

                John waited for the screen to stopped on 00:00:00.

                The second it finally showed the long awaited numbers, John shut down the briefcase and pulled out the power cord from the laptop with a lot of sparks around it. He thrust out the case to Bear.

                "Bear, erop!"

                And they were on the run again. John didn't have time to be nervous. All around him the lights were out. The world was silent. The emergency alarm shut down the moment Machine infected the servers. He just hoped he could make it out and let Bear go. The canine knew how to get to Harold. Bear knew, what home meant.

                John abandoned his long term policy of aiming for the kneecaps. With every new person down, he confiscated the weapon and tried to do what he can.

                The bullet through his biceps was an annoying thing. He faltered for a minute and took cover behind the slightly opened door. He needed to get out. For Harold. They were several long corridors from the nearest exit.

                Before he had a chance to think through their escape, Bear left the briefcase with him and run out. Maybe he saw something John didn't.

                John was smiling, when Bear dragged several tactical, polo automatic guns to John. "Good boy."

                Maybe everything wasn't so lost with them. There was still the chance of their survival and thanks to the big explosion very nearby, John have an element of surprise on his side. He stood up, shoot left and right and quickly stumbled through the darkness with Bear pressed to his leg. The canine as an indicator where to go.

                John saw people milling around the warehouse from the small window, there weren't only government  agents. The crowd was full of firefighters. How can they be here so fast? How was it even possible? The world was again in the darkness. And why the explosion of the building nearby?

                John was standing by the door and he finally understood the truth. The Machine was clever enough to be almost at their door. No one suspected the warehouse two buildings over to be a housing for the most powerful machine of all times. The old proverb said _The darkest place is under the candlestick_.

                She probably called the emergency responses beforehand just to be sure they will arrive in time.

                "You're a funny girl," John whispered. The second explosion of the building next to them was surprising and John understood, why the Machine wanted him out of there. He should have asked Her for the calculations. What was his chance of survival? Right now it looked like zero, or some points below.

                If he didn't get blown up, they will certainly kill him once they saw him out there. The only good thing was the darkness. The Machine killed all the electricity and the whole world was bathed in the black.

                 John hadn't the best chance for surviving, but She didn't count on Bear. The dog left the briefcase on the floor and went like a rocket through the door and the masses of people outside. He was back in a few minutes with John's cover, fireman's overalls.

                "Good boy," he hastily suited himself and waited for the group of firemen to go near the warehouse. They have to secure the building near the fire. John just hoped the warehouse is not going to blow up early with him still inside.

***

                John made it to the rendezvous point on Times Square late. There were people around him, but neither Harold, nor the others. He couldn't stay long. He didn't want to think about Harold's head space. He couldn't afford to think about Harold now. The man was going through hell once again. John's priority was getting to him the fastest way possible.

                The traffic was nonexistent, all the cars stopped. Just like the day their team separated almost a year ago with Vigilance and Greer. The only option to go to Harold was by foot through the darkened streets with panicking people around.

                John looked down on Bear again. He just hoped She was still in there somewhere buried in the insides of the laptop. She had to be there. The idea of losing the Machine freaked him out. What would they do? Live happily ever after somewhere secure, when no one could find them? Lead a boring lives and hoping the most exciting thing in their small world would be change of weather? It was disturbing thought. John couldn't imagine his life like that.

                "Bear, we have to go home."

                If Harold could find the Machine's remains in there, they have a chance to repair Her, resuscitate Her, if that would work somehow. Harold created Her once, John only hoped he could do something for Her now.

                With a nervous feeling in his stomach, John headed off to the darkness. Harold was waiting for him.


	34. Chapter 34

**Chapter 34 - Harold's POV**

Harold didn't remember much from the way to Elias' safe house number two. Detective Fusco drove them away, taking advantage of his badge. John was gone. His Machine was gone. All of them were silent. This was exactly the outcome Harold was afraid of. Him surviving and winning the war over Samaritan, but losing everything at the process.

                Suddenly the lights around the city were back. Detective Fusco switch the lights on in the apartment and Harold turned with a hopeful eyes on the young woman.

                "Root?"

                He desperately needed to hear her say John was alright and the Machine was still online, but the crushed expression and the tears in her eyes were answer enough.

                "She's not there," Root sniffed.

                Harold's shoulders were aching, he felt bruised inside. Root. How difficult it had to be for her? She wasn't Miss Groves anymore. Harold felt her heartache, she didn't deserve to have him titled her Miss Groves, when she hated her old life.

                "Can you tell me what was her last calculations?"

                It wasn't anything good. He saw the eye contact between her and Sameen. Even the ex-CIA agent wasn't Miss Shaw to him now. The necessity of their comfort took preference.  

                "I assure you I can handle the truth, Root." But Harold wasn't that much honest with himself. He felt hollow. He lost the people that meant the most to him over and over again.

                "She was running calculation for John, when he changed the plan."

                "What-" Harold needed to know the results, but at the same time, he couldn't ask.

                "People, it's Wonderboy we're talking about. He's better in resurrecting than Jesus Christ. Have some faith."

                Harold was glad Lionel had so much hope in John. Lionel... Again, with the familiarity. John's words were haunting him.

                _"Keep yourself alive, Harold. You have a family to keep together."_

                "It was under twenty percent," Shaw uttered quietly.

                So they already had this conversation. Harold could picture Sameen demanding to know John's location from Root, just to go there, just to try to find him, just to have some closure. If there existed the slightest chance John could be alive, she would be on her way.

                Under twenty percent.

                Harold turned his back to them. His eyes fell on the window. The very same window he was leaning on this morning when John kissed him.

                _"Keep yourself alive, Harold. You have a family to keep together."_

                Now the pain finally penetrated his shock and fog of hollowness. He couldn't imagine a day without John in his life. He was stuck in the room, unable to went to bedroom, because his legs wouldn't let him go that far. He had to keep some dignity and couldn't break down. Not with all of them in one room.

                _"Keep yourself alive, Harold. You have a family to keep together."_

                "I don't want to, John," he whispered almost inaudibly. "I don't want to."

                "You can... build it again, yeah?" Sameen tried the hopeful approach. "I need to kill some scumbags. I own the government a few bullets for John and the dog."

                Obviously his answer took too long.

                "Harold?"

                He couldn't imagine both women being vigilantes and killing for him, just to have a score to settle. Sooner or later, they would end up dead. The people in higher places would know. They would hunted them, not that effectively when they didn't have Samaritan on their side, but Harold didn't delude himself.

                They both would go places, a lot of people would never come back alive. Two of them against the full buildings of highly trained operatives. He would allow them to go to their deaths, if he would continue his work.

                "Harold?" Sameen demanded the answer again.

                "Hey! Lay off him! Stop the pressure, Miss Congeniality. Now's not the time."

                "When the hell will be the time? We have to think on our feet! We need-"

                Harold felt Lionel near his back and knew they were arguing. He was glad for the words on his behalf, but they didn't mean a difference. John wasn't here. He remembered John's words.

                _"When you find that one person who connects you to the world, you become someone different. Someone better. When that person is taken from you, what do you become then?"_

                A shadow.

                "Sorry, we're late."

                Harold turned around so fast his neck gave a painful twitch. The silence in the apartment was almost unbearable. Silence and then the beating of Harold's heart in his ears. He couldn't hear anything else. He was the first one to move.

                Harold dashed forward, didn't care about anything at the moment, collided with him and wrapped his arms around John's torso. The world stopped existing. It was John in his arms, his scent, his low voice, his careful tone.

                "I'm alright, Harold. I'm alright."

                Why would John repeated the one sentence into his ear over and over again? Then he started to realize the painful grip he had on John's coat, the shaking of his body, his hyperventilating lungs and the need to never let John from his sight.

                "I hate you!"

                Harold felt Miss Shaw punching John in the arm.

                "Au! Careful, Shaw, I'm seriously injured and people could think you care about me or something like that."

                The light drawl made Harold a bit calmer. Injured. He needed to know what happened. The first things needed to be addressed first. "Mr. Reese!" he took a step back. The reproach was again like being back home.

                "I'm fine. Just an arm."

                "Miss Shaw," Harold cleared a path for the woman to examine John and finally looked at Bear and the mysterious briefcase.

                "John?"

                "Bear, vrij!"

                Harold took the case from the canine and watched John.

                "I hope She's still in there. I know She was there. She infected Samaritan and Herself. The second She did it, I disconnected Her from the servers. Maybe She didn't have time to die in there too," John was looking at him with hope.

                "I need a secure laptop, Root."

                "On it," she stopped on her way to the doors and kissed John's cheek. "I think I like you."

                "Talk for yourself."

                "I really don't care what you think. We have some things to do. Lionel? Some help? Police badge is always appreciated and I left mine at the last safe house."

                "Ok. Good to have you back, Wonderboy. I will start calling you Jesus Christ next time you pull something like this again."

                "I sincerely hope there won't be next time, Lionel."

                "Go away. I need to stitched him up again," Shaw gestured for them to leave.

                Harold watched the interaction with a light heart. John was injured. Unfortunate, but the consequences could have been worse. He left the briefcase on the coffee table and went back to Bear. The dog deserved some affection.

                "Could you give him a treat, Harold? He saved my life tonight more than once."

                "Of course. Come here, boy."

                Harold prepared the dog food in a dish and another with water. The marvelous sight of John without his shirt off took the rest of his attention. Another bullet wound, but John was alive. That mattered the most. Harold wanted to thank all the Gods in heaven for that.

                He carefully supported himself on the windowsill and watched Miss Shaw at work. Harold could hear her explaining the situation to John, the Machine's calculations under twenty percent, John answering She didn't take Bear as help. Without the dog, John would never made it.

                Sameen finally finished the stitches, wrapped up the first aid and informed Harold: "He's fine. it's just a scratch."

                "Thank you."

                "I'm hungry. I'm going for some food. Do you want anything?"

                "No, thank you," he whispered again. Harold' heart was hammering in his chest.


	35. Chapter 35

**Chapter 35 - John's POV**

                John put on a sleeve of his new white shirt. He slowly maneuvered his injured left arm to dress himself as usual. He didn't want to show Harold the thick bandage on his arm for too long. Before he moved more, Harold was there helping him.

                "Thanks." John knew he needed to say something. When the smaller man stood in front of him and held the shirt in both hands, John's first thought was about buttoning up, but Harold  surprised him, stepped closer, embraced John around his naked torso again and pressed his forehead to John's shoulder.

                "I'm sorry." John regretted his decision to throw away the phone. He should have done something, but the situation really was out of his hands. The Machine was gone at the minute. John didn't have a way of communicating with Harold thanks to the blackout and the traffic was absolute nightmare. No tube was working and John had to rely on his feet. He would have done anything  to spare Harold the time he had to live with the knowledge of John's supposed death. "I tried to get here as quickly as possible."

                "Later, John," was his whispered answer.

                John shivered when he felt Harold's fingers caressing his back. The horror of past hours was slowly evaporating from his brain and the only sensation leaving behind was a pleasant fog. John shook his head. There were things to talk about. "Do you think-"

                "Please."

                He saw Harold pulled away and fixed his eyes to John's mouth almost against his will.

                "Not now."

                He may have mumbled ok in reply, but if he did, John was pretty sure, most of it was lost in the press of their lips together. The gentle contact was finally the _hello, welcome home_ he imagined on the way to Harold from the warehouse.

                Maybe it was Harold reacting to the stress of the situation, maybe the thing between them wouldn't last, but John was content with anything Harold was willing to give him. When he heard the happy sigh from the older man, John thought maybe they have a future together.

                Especially when Harold's hold on him changed, he pressed on John's back to get him closer, stood on tiptoes and tried to move his head and got less space between them. John could hear the momentary whimper of pain, but it didn't stop Harold from the needy kiss.

                "No, no, no," John carefully extricated himself no matter how much the move was killing him. "Don't do this," he carefully placed a palm on Harold's neck and looked him in the eyes. "Don't hurt yourself, Harold. Not for me. Not for this..."

                "I'm alright," he breathed out.

                John smiled. Of course, what else would he say. "I think we will be more alright near the couch and you with less clothes." 

                It was almost comical to watch Harold's eyes widened with realization he still wore a winter coat and warm scarf in the apartment.

                "You're right, of course."

                John settled himself on the back of the couch and still smiling, started to help Harold  unbuttoning the coat. The man didn't do much more than untangle the complicated knot on his scarf. He was staring frozen at John's fingers slowly descending from one button to the next.

                "Finch?" John stopped.

                "Use my first name, please," Harold whispered hoarsely.

                This time John was absolutely sure, he repeated Harold's name before Harold's lips were back on his, one of his hands was on the nape of John's neck with fingers buried in his hair. The height difference wasn't that bad and John could easily tilt his head to the side and allow the kiss to be deeper without Harold straining his neck too much.

                John almost forgot how Harold taste like, the adrenaline gone from his body and only the unbearable heat remained instead. He tore Harold's offending scarf away and at the same time undo the last button on the coat. He needed to feel skin. John abandoned the task of pressing Harold to him, took both lapels in hands and with a force ripped the thing of him.

                "Sh," John tore his lips to the side and stilled. The bullet wounds were killing him.

                "Oh god, your arm and shoulder," Harold slid a hand carefully to John's chest. "We should-"

                "I'm fine, Harold." This wasn't a good time for conversation. He tried to get closer again, but Harold took a step back and shook his head.

                "This is not a good time..."

                John agreed, really did, but at the same time couldn't do anything else than stare at Harold's lips and wonder if he did take a step in his direction and kiss him, if Harold would push him away. Thinking with the brain now really wasn't his specialty.

                 Harold was giving him a confused look. "What are you doing to me? I can't think."

                "That makes both of us."

                "Oh, damn it to Hell," Harold shrugged in a helpless gesture and went to John.

                John didn't let him go far, he was in his way in a heartbeat and fitting their lips together again. He didn't stop. John firmly held him around the waist and carefully guided him in direction of bedroom doors, mindful of Harold's unsteady steps.

                Once there, Harold finally had something to support himself with and John placed both hands near his head. He bent his knees slightly and dragged his lips to Harold's ear and neck.

                "John..."

                Harold's deadly grip on his hips talked for itself. John pushed their groins together just to feel Harold's excitement and snaked one arm around his lower back to held him in place. "Alright?"

                "I'm gonna fall."

                "I won't let you," he drawled back.

                Maybe John finally said something good, because Harold gave him a small smile. His eyes were full of wonder. "Of course not. How did I deserve so much devotion?"

                "Don't sell yourself short, Harold. You're the one who's always had my back... and front... and everything in the middle. You're a good-"

                "All these years you were so closed off and silent and now's the time you start to talk?"

                John could hear the amusement. Harold was right, he behaved absolutely ridiculous. He pressed his forehead to Harold's with a contented sigh. "What can I say, you're bringing out the best in me."

                The warmth that spread through his chest when Harold chuckled was a pleasant feeling.

                "We can't stay like this forever, John. There's still so much to do."

                "I know." John's heartbeat calmed a little. The knowledge of Harold wanting John back and not shying away from him did wonders for his peace of mind. "Root will be here with laptop and Shaw will bring food..."

                "You're forgetting the good detective," Harold reminded him.

                "True. We can't do anything without Lionel nosing around," he agreed. "So... when will we have a bit of a time for ourselves again?" Not that he wouldn't wait for the physical relationship with Harold. Obviously he would. He will let the man set the pace.

                "Can I schedule a date with you in your social calendar?" John fractionally pulled back to see Harold's face, the ease of their banter was toning down the desire to rip Harold's clothes off right this minute.  

                "I waited long enough, John."

                It was the last of coherent words John remembered for a while, because Harold captured his mouth in demanding kiss and pulled John's shirt down. He didn't take time to look at him or adjust to the new dynamic of their relationship as John would expect. No.

                John finally understood how much he scared the man today. Forgetting the caution of  listening to the front doors to open, he unbuttoned Harold's suit jacket and let it slide down. This wasn't about him at all. The hot, desperate kiss was the culminating result of panic Harold felt without John beside him.

                Four buttons  of Harold's vest later, John slide the palm from the door to Harold's hair and light pulled, the answering whimper made him jerk his hips to Harold's hardness, but he stilled his actions. He had to focus for a second. John wasn't sure it was only the good kind of noise. "Neck?"

                "Alright."

                Harold breathed into his mouth and John was absolutely lost. He started on another round of buttons, this time on the white shirt. He almost felt like unwrapping the present on Christmas morning and couldn't do it fast enough.  When he finally dragged the opened shirt from Harold's pants he groaned in frustration. Undershirt. How could he forgot the proper way of wearing the three piece suit?

                "Really, Harold?"

                "If I knew about this outcome, I would have dressed myself more appropriately, John."

                "We'll talk about this later." John abandoned the complicated upper part of Harold's clothing and set his fingers to work on the lower one. Belt, trousers, underwear. Only two layers. Less time.  Much better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My first time writing smut in English, so be gentle with me...


	36. Chapter 36

**Chapter 36 - Harold's POV**

Harold sucked in a breath when he felt John's hand inside his underwear. For a moment it looked like his legs will give up under him. He tightened the hold on John's shoulder and with the other hand squeezed John's wrist.

                "Harold?"

                John needed his words, Harold knew that much, but the pleasure was overwhelming and he didn't want to spent another second thinking. He did enough of thinking in his lifetime. He figured out how to create an artificial intelligence, how to survive being a hunted man, how to keep people around him safe, how to help Irrelevant Numbers. For once in his life Harold wanted something only for himself without thinking.

                 "Bed?" John suggested.

                Trust John to understood Harold's inability to form words. To Hell with words. To Hell with bed. To Hell with John being the generous one. This wasn't just for him.

                Harold really couldn't understand how they ended up in this position. They were both so emotionally stunned and incapable of letting people in, it was a miracle they even arrived to this point.

                He fixed his eyes to John's. One subtle tug on his hand and John was complying as usual without a word. Harold forced his own fingers to obey him and started working on John's belt buckle. The stunt expression on John's face made Harold's heart skipped a beat. Like John couldn't comprehend someone would be willing to think about his pleasure as well. He saw John opened his mouth and tried to talk, but nothing came out.

                Harold was the one responsible for speechless John. It was a heady feeling. Now he finally knew what to say, when John's trousers fell down to his ankles, just as his did few minutes before.

                "I thought we are in this together, John."

                The open affection in John's eyes made him almost lowered his own gaze with shyness. The ex-CIA agent was looking at him like Harold created the world.

                "Do you need to go to bed, Harold?" John asked breathless. Always taking care of him. Always thinking about his well-being.

                 Maybe it was the time to come clean. "I need you... to never let me go, John." Harold couldn't hide the serious tone and how his voice break down on his name. In every situation he could always count on John keeping him safe, trying to save him or preventing the bad things to happen to him. He didn't want to live any other way.

                "Always."

                "And I need you to promise me to do everything in your power to stay alive and coming back to me." Because demanding from John to think about himself and not standing as a shield in front of Harold in every situation was pointless.

                "Always, Harold... Anything else?" 

                Yes. The most important thing of all. "For the love of God, can we stop talking now?" He let himself go, took John's face into his palms and brushed their lips together again. It was like throwing a match onto a kindling.

                Harold finally got what he was aiming for, John Reese taking what he wanted. The kiss was transformed from safe and perfectly calm to insisting and demanding in a second.

                John pushed him to the doors, eased both of their underwear down in a haste and without breaking his mouth from Harold's, took both erections into his hand and gave them an experimental squeeze. It was a good thing, Harold was pinned so firmly, he was pretty sure his legs will give up soon enough.

                "This is gonna..." John panted against his lips. "...be over... very quickly..."

                "I'm not grading you."

                The surprised giggle from John that followed Harold's statement was muffled by John pressing his lips to the skin behind Harold's ear and the world to spin. Harold could only helplessly whimpered. John knew about the sensitivity of his neck.

                Harold peppered the shoulder in front of him with kisses and small bites, overlaid John's fingers on their erections and helped him speed up the cautious dragging of his grip.

                "John," Harold gasped, twisted his fingers into John's hair and clung to him with all his strength.           

                Instead of saying something, John silenced him with a heady kiss, then groaned when Harold instinctively passed his thumb over their sensitive slits. Harold's skin was burning, the erratic rhythm of John's hand was driving him insane and he could feel himself getting closer.

                Harold didn't have any time to warn John. He was still trembling in the aftermath, when John's knees wobbled with the force of his orgasm. In the end, Harold was the one who kept them vertical and they were both breathing hard. John gradually get his strength back and looked at Harold with a funny expression.

                "Harold, why didn't we do this sooner?"

                "Because you lived in a delusional state of mind where according to you, I should be afraid of you, John," Harold smiled. The flushed skin and swollen lips were attractive on John Reese.

                "Yeah, sounds familiar."

                John's humor was back. "I never agreed with you."

                "Hm. You never had much self-preservation."

                "I don't need it, I have you." If that sentence didn't have more than one meaning. Harold watched John lean towards him again and pressed forehead to his.

                "Remember that, Harold."

                "Always, Mr. Reese." It was Harold's default answer to anything John had to say. No matter what happened between them, he couldn't change that and say _Always, John_. No. The old saying was important to him and to John as well. It was Harold's way of saying he will always be there for John. Thanks to that statement, John started to trust him years back.

                From the corner of his eye, Harold saw a movement. "Oh God." Bear looked from his paws, tilting his head thoughtfully. "I think we scarred the dog for the rest of his life."

                "He looks fine to me."

                Harold kissed John's shoulder. "We should get dressed, they could be here anytime now."

                "Yeah, you're right."

                The cooling sweat and semen on his body made Harold shiver, but he couldn't care less. The idea of being separated from John was almost unbearable. Harold was convinced John felt the same, he didn't loosen his hold on Harold at all. He checked the bandage on John's arm just to be sure he wasn't bleeding.

                Knocking on the door made them both freeze. Harold expected Sameen or Root to barge in, but nothing happened.

                "We have to get dressed." John seconded his earlier statement.

                Harold's breath caught in his lungs when John kneeled before him. This didn't help the situation at all. "John," he warned him nervously.

                "Lift your leg and be careful."

                Harold understood what John wanted him to do. God, he was so nice and thoughtful. How was it possible for this human being still caring so much about others when he went through so many horrors in his life? Harold felt an unbelievable instinct to shield John from everything bad in their lives.

                He caressed John's cheek, when he stood before him again. He knew John will be suspicious.

                "What is it?"

                "Sometimes my mind wanders..." Was it enough for John as an explanation? Did Harold have to be more specific?

                "I know that. I spent years looking at you. Go, get dressed before you catch a cold."

                Harold still stood there after John kissed his forehead sweetly. "You're one to talk. I'm not the one in the birthday suit. I still have two layers," he reminded proudly.

                "Only because your wardrobe is too complicated. Think about it, when you're getting dressed again. I will be the one undressing you later."

                If John's words didn't make him blush, his eyes definitely did. With a confused shake of head, Harold went to the bedroom and closed the door after himself. Harold knew he should move, but all he could do was stand there and imagine what John looked like, how he tasted like, how he sounded and how he felt under Harold's hands.

                Bear's barking brought him back to reality. There were things to do. He couldn't lose time  daydreaming. John risked his life to save the Machine. He quickly went to bathroom, made himself presentable and was back in a few minutes with his suit jacket buttoned up. John did a double take when he saw him.

                Harold's only answer was the raised eyebrow.

                Knocking on the door saved them from other interaction. He watched John opening the door and letting in Sameen, Root and detective Fusco. It was very convenient for them to be together.

                "So the reunion's over?" Miss Shaw slid her gaze from John to him and Harold's throat dried. He was too sensitive, she couldn't have known what happened.

                "We figured you need some time to... talk," detective Fusco clarified. "We took turns to knock on the door. Sooner or later one of you would have opened, when the... talking was over."

                Harold straightened his back. No need to be embarrassed. He calmly watched the detective without a word. His relationship with John was only his and John's. No opinions from others were necessary.

                "Which isn't my business. Why are you making me rambling? I'm usually not rambling."

                "Thank you, detective. Root, the laptop, please?"

                "As you wish, Harry."

                The young woman slipped around him gracefully and started to open the box with their new electronic gadget. He was Harry again. Most of the day was awful, but the rest looked really hopeful. Harold sat on the couch and looked for John.

                "John, how much time passed before you disconnected Her?" With one simple sentence they were all back in their roles.


	37. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going on vacation tomorrow, so I posted the rest of the story. It didn't seem fair not to, when the story was finished.  
> I would like to thank each and every one of you who read this, wrote me PM's, left kudos or wrote comments. It means a lot to me. :)

**Chapter 37 - EPILOG - JOHN'S POV**

John, Lionel and Shaw watched Root and Harold in rotation. They were both awake proximately two days. Root was presently laying on the sofa halfway asleep. Harold worked almost forty-eight hours straight on two laptops. He needed both of them, every few hours switching, never talking, sometimes nibbling on crackers or fruit John put in front of him.

                John knew exactly where to put the plates and cups of tea, so Harold automatically eat and drink, he did have some practice with the computer genius through the years. Harold acknowledged the world around him, he half listened, but ignored the rest.

                "Harry, you need to sleep," Root muttered tiredly.

                She tried to talked some sense into Harold few hours ago. John switched the position with Lionel and patted his thigh to let Bear know it was the time.  

                "I will take Bear for a walk, Harold."

                "Sameen could take him." The immediate answer from Harold made Root more awake.

                "She's sleeping now. I need some sun on my face."

                "Do you want me to buy you a tanning bed, John?"

                John tried not to smile. "Fresh air is good for the soul."

                "You can open the windows."

                All of this without Harold interrupting the coding. It was amusing and sweet at the same time. "I will have Bear with me, Harold."

                "Sameen can take him."

                "I'm going out," John stated firmly and hoped for a moment it won't be a problem and he didn't read Harold wrong.

                The silence, when Harold stopped working on the laptop was almost like a shock, everyone's attention suddenly on them. One could feel self-conscious, but Harold only stared at John several long moments. They didn't need to have a conversation. Harold's eyes talked for themselves and they have plenty to say.

                Why is it so important for John to go out. Why did he have to leave Harold for more than bathroom break. Thankfully the tired, worried expression changed into the defeat. Harold knew it was important for both of them to function separately as well.

                When Harold finally gave up and focused his attention back on the computer screen, he whispered: "Be careful, Mr. Reese."

                "Always, Finch."

***

                Nothing changed much after John's return with Bear. Root sat up straighter and stretched her aching muscles, when John came back. John didn't even have the chance to take off the coat and  Harold was commenting the situation.

                "Long walk."

                "Bear enjoyed himself." John calmly finished the undressing.

                "For fifty-seven minutes?"

                It looked like the answer didn't catch unaware only him, Root as well. She was probably thinking, when the hell had Harold time to be aware of that.

                "I'm fine."

                John put down a paper cup near Harold's hand without other word. He joined Lionel by the window and waited. He could feel Root's questioning gaze on him. She and Lionel didn't understand why he would leave Harold and rather went with Bear out, but John was confident Harold would in a second. It was only a matter of time.

                The room was silent again, because Harold froze with a paper cup on his lips, once he sipped his beverage. John gave a him sad smile, when Harold twisted his body in the chair and looked at him. 

                "I still remember," John drawled. Sencha green. One sugar. From Harold's favorite teashop.

                Harold only blinked, dazed for a moment.

                "You need to sleep, Harold. You want to help Her, you can't if your concentration's not one hundred percent. You know I'm right."

                John's worry finally penetrated the man's conscience. "How long since we started to work?"

                "Almost two days."

                John watched Harold's shoulders sagged in exhaustion. "Alright."

                It was his cue to went to him and helped him on his feet, silently watching the wince of pain. Harold surprisingly sneaked his arms around John's torso and rested his forehead on John's shoulder.

                "She's there," he informed them. "We need to find big servers and moved Her, but it looks like She could be alright."

                "Good job, Harry," Root was on her feet in a second, barging into the bedroom and yelling at Shaw to wake up, because they needed to find a home for the little Goddess.

                John ignored Root's bubbling, exciting words and Shaw's grumpiness, he only waited for them to leave, so Harold could replace Sameen in bed.

                John felt Harold's fingers slackened on his shirt. "You can't sleep on your feet, Harold," he whispered softly and guided him carefully to the bedroom.

***

**Root's POV**

                Root was strolling down the streets with Sameen by her side and watched their surroundings. January 11th looked like a perfect day. The sun was shining on the sky, people milling around them didn't pose a threat. Everything looked good.

                The Goddess will be fine. Root remembered her own words to Harold almost nine months ago.

                _"When everything is over, and the worst has happened, there's still one thing left in Pandora's box... Hope."_

                They still had hope. At the present moment the _hope_ was hidden inside the laptop.

                From the beginning she thought Harold to be pathetic genius who couldn't care less about the young Goddess he gave birth to and wrongly taught Her to bend under the bad code, under humanity.

                Now, years later, she knew there were things she failed to realize.

                Like Harold loving his Daughter. Like Harold loving the brooding, suicidal lapdog with a hero complex. Like John loving Harold and the Daughter back and the Goddess seeing them as Her parents.

                Yeah. There were definitely things she failed to realize.

                "Stop smiling like a grasshopper on crack," Sameen grumbled. "People are looking at us."

                "Bit of a change. At least they are not shooting at us," she couldn't help herself and smiled at the ex-CIA agent. That was when the most shocking thing happened, Sameen smiled back.

                "Yep. Life's good."

**THE END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading.


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